


Rookie Year

by Lovedmoviesb, msdoomandgloom



Series: Richonne AUs [1]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: AU, Collaboration, F/M, Richonne - Freeform, Romance, Sequel, Soulmates, Summer Fluff, baseball AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 10:43:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19868305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lovedmoviesb/pseuds/Lovedmoviesb, https://archiveofourown.org/users/msdoomandgloom/pseuds/msdoomandgloom
Summary: Sequel to The Plan on fanfic.net.College is over, and Rick Grimes has made it to the big leagues. Can he and Michonne balance being newlyweds and his newfound fame?A fic/art collaboration with msdoomandgloom





	1. First Inning

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to my first Baseball AU fic
> 
> If you haven't already, go check out the Plan on my Tumblr or on Fanfiction.net

Outside, the world was beginning to stir, the sleepy south coming alive on a Sunday morning. Cars rolled serenely down the street, heading to destinations unknown. The hotel at the end of the road was still mostly silent, its occupants sleeping off hangovers or enjoying a lazy weekend morning. In the honeymoon suite, a pair of newlyweds was stirring, doing their best not to wake the rest of the world up. The last of the summer sunlight streamed through a gap in the curtains, illuminating the king-sized bed and the couple twisted together atop it.

Rick kissed his wife on her shoulder, delighting in the contented sigh that fell from Michonne’s lips.

“I thought you wanted to see the city today?” she asked on a breathless gasp.

Rick nipped at her, pulling her leg up over his arm. Michonne rolled backwards against him, pressing her rounded ass directly into him. He groaned loudly in her ear, sucking at her for good measure. “I’ve got everything I want right here,” he told her, running his palm across her stomach.

She hooked her arm backwards around his neck, tilting her face towards him. Rick wasted no time in kissing her, parting her lips to deepen their connection. They had spent the better part of the week together like this. Rick regretted not a moment of it.

“Today’s our last day,” Michonne reminded him even as her hand guided his along her body. “Are you sure?”

“Baby,” he ran his fingers along her skin, pausing to stroke the ticklish area below her hips. She inhaled sharply. “The only thing I want,” he licked at her neck. “Is you,” his hands slid between her thighs. “And me,” she moaned, tightening around him. “Naked in this bed,” he finished, pressing in deeper until her whole body shuddered.

“Is that all you want?” she asked, reaching back to grasp him. He faltered for a moment as her hand tugged him snuggly. He thrust his hips against her, unabashed as a moan fell from his mouth.

“No,” he drawled, rubbing even harder at her. She began to writhe against him. “That ain’t all I want.” He pulled away just long enough to flip her over. She squealed delightedly, curling her hands into the sheets. Rick pulled her locs into his fist, tugging her hair all to one side so he could kiss her neck.

“Tell me,” she requested, smiling devilishly at him over her shoulder. Her dark umber skin was covered in a light sheen, partly from sleeping so close to one another on a humid summer night, and partly because Rick could not seem to leave her alone for more than an hour at a time.

He cupped her ass, leaning over her until his chest was pressed flush against her back. “Why don’t you tell me what you want?” he suggested, squeezing just to hear her squeal again.

Michonne pressed backwards into him, wiggling tantalizing. “I want my husband,” she teased, voice heavy with lust.

“What do you want him to do?” Rick smacked her lightly, watching her body jiggle with the force. He smoothed his palm over her soothingly.

Michonne gathered her knees beneath her, presenting an enticing picture. “I think you know,” she smiled at him, daring him to act on it.

Her smile melded into a pleasured moan as Rick slid home, fingers digging into her waist. His body responded to hers at once, ravenous, as though they hadn’t been together dozens of times in the last week.

“Rick,” his wife gasped, pressing her face into the pillows beneath her. “God…” She bounced backwards against him. Grappling against the sheets, she found his hand. She clutched it, panting in time with his thrusts. Her whole body jolted with the force of their affections.

Sweat began to drip down him, cooling his corded muscles. He bent forward, needing to feel more of her, his free hand running down her body in almost frantic patterns. Michonne voiced her approval unabashedly, tossing her head back. She began to shake, falling apart around him, pitching forward so she could muffle her pleasured screams in the pillow in front of her.

Rick slowed his movements, needing to see Michonne’s face. She panted beneath him, shaking. He leaned forward, whispering in her ear. “Baby, turn over,” he instructed. With a grin, she complied.

Michonne settled beneath him, legs wrapped around his waist. She stared up at him, her dark eyes heavily lidded, wearing an expression that always undid him completely. Rick lowered his mouth to her, kissing her, whispering endearments that were for her alone. She gasped, holding him, looking at him as though he were the only man in the world who mattered to her.

He’d kissed her for first time when they were barely 18 years old, just after their senior prom, after years of pining for her in secret. He could scarcely believe his luck when she’d responded, when she’d taken a chance on him, when she’d fallen in love with him too. Rick felt much like that teenage boy again as he caught a glimpse of the wedding ring on her left hand. His ring. He sported a matching gold band bearing her initials. Michonne’s fingers found it, tracing the metal as she clung to his shoulder with her other hand. Rick took his time with her, rolling his hips to coax the moans he loved from her lips.

“Don’t stop,” she begged, pulling him deeper still. Her body molded to his, drawing him in.

“I won’t,” he promised. He began to move with more fervor, grunting. He muffled her pleasured cries with his lips, gasping as her second climax pushed him over the edge into his own.

Michonne went boneless against him, sighing contently. “We should just stay here,” she breathed, laying her head against him. “Never leave the room.”

He chuckled, kissing her shoulder again. “It ain’t a bad idea,” he admitted. “But I thought we had plans.”

“Hmm,” Michonne hummed. “Remind me what those were again?”

“You talked a big game about law school,” Rick tickled her. “And I got a new job starting Monday.”

“Oh right,” Michonne smiled, pretending to ponder. “I think I remember something like that. Didn’t we have a party?”

“Mmm hmm,” he sucked gently at her skin, “We were having a good time with all our friends and family. But someone wanted to leave early.”

“We didn’t leave,” she reminded him. “Just took a break.”

“Is that what you call it?” he chuckled against her skin. Michonne laughed with him.

“The door locked. We were quick--”

“Not that quick,” he protested. She began to laugh in earnest.

“Well, a bathroom isn’t exactly the most comfortable place.” She poked him accusingly.

Rick scoffed in mock shock. “Who’s idea was it again?”

Michonne rolled over to face him. “Rick, it was completely your fault. You know I can’t resist you in a suit. Or in uniform. You wore both that night.” She began to play with his hair, eyes darkening the way they had on Draft Night. They’d managed to hold out for three hours at his party before she’d drawn him into the master bathroom.

“And you wore that red dress,” he reminded her. “With the slit that went up to here,” he dragged his hand along her leg, working up her thigh.

“Well,” she grinned. “It made it easier, didn’t it?”

A memory of Michonne with her skirt bunched up around her waist, biting his arm to stifle her moans filled his mind. “That was a good night,” he held her closer.

Michonne nodded, “We’ve had lots of those,’ she murmured.

It was an understatement really. Rick vaguely wondered how many people met the love of their life as teenagers. He wondered how many more couples managed to get through college unscathed, how many were blessed enough to follow their career dreams.

“I love you,” he told his wife, tucking his head into the crook of her neck. Michonne held him back just as fiercely.

“I love you too, husband,” she smiled, kissing his nose.

Rick rolled her beneath him again. Her legs curled up on either side of his waist. “At some point,” she gasped, arching her back as they came together again, “we’re going to have to leave this room. At least to eat.”

He laughed, kissing her deeply. “Not yet,” he pled.

“All right,” she agreed, tugging his face down to hers. “Not yet.”

-l-l-l-l-l-

“Could I please get a Neapolitan, and a...triple chocolate?” Michonne bent over to peer through the glass, staring at the containers of sweets inside.

“Want any toppings?” an uninterested teenage girl barely deigned to look up at them.

“Hot fudge,” Rick piped up. “And sprinkles on the chocolate.”

His wife shot him a delighted look over her shoulder, reaching back for his hand. Rick pulled her cozily under his arm. The employee dutifully scooped out their order into waffle cones. “That’ll be $5.50,” she intoned.

Rick slid her the bills. “I don’t need change,” he told her, handing Michonne her behemoth chocolate dessert. He accepted his own cone from the cashier.

The girl finally looked at him, her eyes widening. “I know you,” she perked up, staring at him.

“Do you?” Rick asked, tucking his wallet away. He grabbed his wife’s hand. Michonne looked on amusedly.

“How do I know you?” the cashier asked.

“Have a good one,” Rick hazarded a smile, tugging his wife away. Michonne followed, leaving a bemused employee in their wake.

“Do you think she’ll chase you?” Michonne laughed, licking at her dessert.

“I didn’t think they’d know me out here,” the thought sombered him, but Michonne did not look as though it upset her.

“Baby, you’re about to be way more famous than that,” she reminded him. “Get used to it, Mr. Number-One-Draft-Pick.”

He smiled, taking a lick of his own cone. “It’s just Rick,” he protested. “Same as I’ve always been.”

Michonne walked closer to him, stealing a bit of the strawberry from his cone. She smacked her lips dramatically. “I know that,” she assured him. She handed her ice cream to Rick. He gamely traded her.

“You could always just get strawberry,” he pointed out, watching his wife tear into his dessert.

“Yours tastes better,” she said, happily eating.

“Maybe we should get actual food,” he suggested.

“Can we get it to go?” she gave him a suggestive look. “It’s our last night in that beautiful suite.”

Rick kissed her, enjoying the taste of the ice cream. The cones were gone by the time they arrived back at the hotel, but Michonne was no less sweat. He scarcely managed to get the door to their room shut before she was on him, tugging his t-shirt over his head.

“We’re going to need to get some new ones,” she smiled as she threw his red Trojan’s jersey to the ground. “I waited four years to get you in blue.” She unzipped his jeans, letting them fall to the floor.

The thought of Michonne in his number sent his pulse racing. “I’ll get you some,” he promised. “They’ll look better than that UCLA crap.”

“Hey…” she warned, biting lightly at his shoulder. Rick only chuckled. He pulled his wife into his arms, hiking her up. The fabric of her sundress was cool in his fists as he pushed it up around her waist.

“Don’t think I’m going to make it to the bed,” he grunted. Michonne drew him in for a burning kiss, rolling her hips against his.

“Then don’t,” she gasped.

With a wicked grin, Rick turned them against the wall.

-l-l-l-l-l-

“You know,” Michonne smiled at him as he settled into the seat next to her. “I think I could get used to this.”

“Used to what?” he asked, buckling himself in. He stretched his legs out in front of him.

“The famous Rick Grimes,” she teased, leaning towards him. She kissed his cheek, smoothing his hair back.

“Stop,” he blushed, glancing around the cabin of the airplane.

“What?” she shrugged. “You worked hard for this.”

“I haven’t even done anything yet,” he reminded her.

“Just got top pick in the rookie draft,” she reminded him. “One of the youngest Dodgers in history.” Her pride was evident in everything from her voice to her expression.

“It’s embarrassing,” Rick muttered. The attendant at the gate had almost screamed when he walked up. Before Rick could even introduce himself, they’d been upgraded to first class and shuttled forward through the lines.

Michonne stroked his face, holding his chin between her hands. “My modest country boy,” she mused, kissing him. “This is just the beginning, you know?”

“Yeah,” Rick ignored a group of businessmen glancing at him excitedly. He sunk down in his seat, leaning his head against his wife’s shoulder. Michonne stroked his hair, running her fingers through his curls.

“Relax, baby,” she soothed. “We’ll figure this out. We always do.”

“You’ve got law school to worry about,” he said, squeezing her leg. “I hear Berkeley ain’t easy.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “I hear the same about the MLB.” She lifted the arm rest between them, settling comfortably at his side. “But it’s just two years. We’ll fly back in forth. I’ll study when you’re on the road, and when you’re home…” she ran her hand up his thigh suggestively.

“Don’t start that,” he cautioned lowly. “I don’t think the bathroom up here is big enough. Not even in first class.”

Michonne laughed, but moved her hand to hold his. “It’s going to be ok,” she reaffirmed, laying against him.

“I know,” he leaned back, turning his attention to the flight attendant’s safety presentation. “It’s us.”

“And we always figure it out,” Michonne shut her eyes. She was asleep before they took off, leaving the south behind them for the sunny shores of California. Rick held her, staring out the window, watching the world below.

Sighing, he pulled the Dodgers cap over his eyes, settling in beside his wife.


	2. Second Inning

Dodger Stadium was silent, the quiet echoing in the hollow concrete space, filling the gaps between the seats. Rick had devoted much time to this arena. He knew intimately the press of the hard plastic chairs against his body, the sticky-sweet scent of kettle corn and peanuts, the chants of the crowd, the crack of the bat, the fizz of cheap sour beer as it coated his mouth. He’d gone to his first Dodger’s game within days of arriving in California. Michonne had accompanied him to what felt like hundreds more, had watched him play her school at the annual rival games. It all felt different now. 

“It’s weird without the sound, huh?” a deep voice startled Rick from his musings. He turned around, gym bag bouncing against his back, to see a familiar face. They had yet to meet in person, but Rick knew his visage well. He’d spent the better part of a decade watching him play ball. 

“Weirder that this is home now,” Rick responded, attempting to keep his cool. “Played games here in college but…” he looked over his shoulder at the field. He was itching to get down there, to feel the dirt beneath his cleats, the laces of the balls against his fingers. 

“You’ll get used to it,” arguably the best catcher in the league laughed. “Just wait till there’s thousands of people in here cheering your name. Beats the hell out of the stadiums where they boo you.” He brushed a hand over his face, drawn into some memory. 

Rick digested that. “I’ll take your word for it,” he reached his hand out. “It’s nice to officially meet you, Jones.”

“Call me Morgan,” Morgan Jones’ face split into a wide grin. It was a sight Rick was familiar with. Somewhere, buried in his childhood bedroom, he had this man’s rookie card squirreled away. “Welcome to the Dodgers, Grimes.” Jones told him as he slapped his palm against Rick’s. 

The words alone sent a thrill through him. “Rick,” he couldn’t help but smile back. “I’m happy to be here.” Happy was an understatement. He’d scarcely slept the night before. 

“The rest of the team won’t be here for a while,” Morgan explained. “Mostly it’s me and the training staff this early.” He looked at Rick questioningly. 

“I wanted to see it,” Rick explained. “I just needed a minute.” He hoped to calm himself before reporting to the locker room. He hadn’t expected to be caught by the team captain. 

“Well,” Morgan walked forward. “You’ll have plenty of time to take it in. Got about 100 games left. Is your arm ready?”

The fingers on Rick’s hand flexed involuntarily, “It will be.”

Morgan looked out at the field, grinning again beneath his ball cap. “No one’s out there yet. I got my mitt though.” He raised a brow. “Want to try it out?”

“You want to catch for me?” Rick couldn’t help the shock. 

“Got something better to do?” Morgan challenged, looking like he guessed Rick’s thoughts. “C’mon,” he patted him on the shoulder. “Let’s see what you got, Rookie.”

-l-l-l-l-l-

The baseball smacked into Morgan’s glove with a satisfying thwack. Beneath his helmet, Morgan grinned. 

“Well I’ll be damned,” he complimented. “You aren’t all hype, Rook.” He threw the ball back towards the pitcher’s mound. 

Rick caught it, winding up again as Morgan crouched. Exhaling, he let it go, listening to the whistle of the air around it as it spun towards the mitt again. “Did someone say I was?’ Rick asked, barely able to keep himself from smirking in satisfaction. 

Morgan laughed. “Don’t take it personally Rookie. I’ve seen a lot of guys come and go.” He tossed the ball back again. “You’ve got a helluva fastball though.”

Rick whipped it back, enjoying the burn as his muscles came alive. The sun beat down on his skin from above the stadium walls, sending tracks of sweat down his face. He caught the ball again, his fingers tracing the deep groove of the laces. “Thanks,” he released, his body moving in a rhythm he’d memorized in middle school. 

“You one of those workhorse types?” Morgan asked after a half dozen more back and forths.

“What do you mean?” Rick pitched again, throwing a screwball for variety’s sake. 

Morgan looked delighted, snagging it as it crossed home plate. “You’re here before the rest of the team. Already practicing on day one. That’s a good thing.”

“Oh yeah?” Rick wiped sweat from beneath the bill of his cap. “I can’t be the only one like that.” He shot Morgan a pointed look. 

Morgan laughed. “No. But workhorses make good pitchers. Work hard enough, you’ll be starting in no time.”

“That’s the goal,” Rick affirmed. He whipped a curveball, watching as it soared sideways before smacking Morgan’s glove again. 

“Should be easy for a young single guy,” Morgan nodded. 

Rick laughed. “I ain’t single,” he said, his mind wandering to Michonne. She was up before him this morning, bouncing into bed with a cup of coffee and a plate of eggs, eager to see him off. 

“Oh right,” Morgan cracked his neck before throwing the ball back. “I remember a girl. She went to UCLA, right?” He shook his head. “You’ve got a pair on you.” He chuckled. 

“She graduated,” Rick nodded. Their rivalry, though superficial, had been fun while it lasted. “She’s at Berkley now. Second semester.”

Morgan looked impressed. “Smart girl. She’s probably got a good idea of what it’s like to date an athlete. I’m sure it’ll work out.” Morgan did not sound overly concerned. 

“It better,” Rick chuckled. “She ain’t just my girlfriend anymore.”

“Engaged?” Morgan raised a brow beneath his mask. 

“Married,” Rick corrected. 

Morgan lifted his helmet off, staring at Rick bemusedly. “How old are you, Rook?”

“22,” Rick paused, tucking the mitt beneath his arm. 

Morgan began to chuckle, his whole body shaking with the force of it. “Lord, you’re an overachiever for sure.”

“You think so?” Rick shrugged. “You oughta meet me wife. She’s got an internship already. Heading to some law firm or something for the rest of the summer.” He smiled. The living room of their apartment was covered in law books, business suits, and office supplies. Rick had spent the weekend helping her pack. 

Morgan said nothing, only sucked his teeth.

“What?” Rick asked, confused.

Morgan exhaled. “I’m not sure you want to hear it.”

“Tell me,” Rick suggested, walking towards home base. 

“I don’t have to tell you that this is a hard game. You lose focus, you get hurt, or sent down, or both,” Morgan looked thoughtful, fixing Rick with a serious stare. “But marriage…” he chuckled. “Baseball’s got nothing on that.”

“We’ve been together since we were 18,” Rick explained. “Made it through college. Made it through planning a wedding long distance.” It had been a relatively small affair in their hometown, just close friends and family. Michonne had insisted she didn’t care to have some big party, nor a honeymoon to somewhere far flung. His girl, as ever, was practical. 

Morgan nodded. “Impressive to be sure,” he conceded. “Marriage is a whole other ballgame. Takes time. Takes focus. And so does baseball.”

“What are you saying?” Rick tilted his head. 

“I’m saying it’s good you’re overachievers,” Morgan tugged his mask back over his face. “You’re gonna need it.” He laughed again. “Let’s see you change up,” he instructed, pushing Rick back towards the mound. 

-l-l-l-l-l-

“This one’s yours,” the manager patted a locker, grinning at Rick. “You got a good one, rookie.”

Rick dropped his bag inside, glancing around. It was nicer by far than any locker room he’d been in, carpeted, polished wood, painted walls. His name was on a plaque at the top of his cubby. Grinning to himself, he pulled out his cellphone. The rest of his team began to circle around him. Rick steeled his nerve, buying more time by sending out a text. 

“What’s wrong with you, Rook?” Outfielder Bob Stookey started in immediately, tugging at Rick’s sweat stained shirt. “Did you run here this morning?” He had a wide, easy grin.

“Maybe he’s sweating ‘cause he’s nervous,” starting pitcher Simon Ogg grinned. “He ain’t the big fish in the pond over here.” He eyed Rick from head to toe. Rick held his glance, unflinching. 

“Well Rook?” star shortstop Aaron Ross prompted. “What’s gotcha sweating?”

“Leave the boy alone, Ross,” outfielder Gabe Stokes came to Rick’s defense. “You’re just mad you don’t have the prettiest hair on the team anymore.” He pulled one of Aaron’s tightly wound curls to illustrate his point. Aaron laughed. 

“At least I have hair,” Aaron rubbed Gabe’s smooth, brown head. 

Explosive laughter met his comment. Even Rick found himself grinning. 

“Nice to meet you fellas too,” he tucked his cellphone into his locker. Stookey spotted it. 

“Who you texting, your mom?” Bob asked. “Want me to take a picture of you in front of your locker?” he teased. 

“My girl,” Rick answered without skipping a beat. The phone began to buzz with what he was sure was Michonne’s enthused reply. He longed to look at it, but resisted the urge. 

“Whoo,” third baseman Theodore “T-Dog” Douglas whistled. “Got yourself a little California chickadee already?”

“Grimes has got himself a wife,” Morgan walked into the locker room, dabbing his face with a towel. 

An explosion of sound met this pronouncement and Rick found himself surrounded. 

“You’re hitched already?” Stookey asked. “She got you young,” he laughed. 

“You do know the amount of women that are going to be throwing themselves at you, right?” Ogg asked. “Why’d you get married?”

“Funnily enough, I love her,” Rick retorted. 

“Leave the boy be,” T-Dog defended. “Not everyone hoes around, Simon. And he ain’t the only one married in here.” Simon snorted, shaking his head. 

“Just the only one dumb enough to tie the knot his rookie year,” shortstop Siddiq Nash laughed. 

“Some people don’t get their girl pregnant first then have a shotgun wedding,” Morgan said deadpan, drawing more guffaws. 

“Let’s see her,” T-Dog requested. 

Shaking his head, Rick nevertheless reached for his wallet, bringing out a conservative photo of Michonne on their honeymoon. She was standing in her sundress, clutching both of their ice cream cones as the sun set behind her. 

“A black girl!” T-Dog roared his approval, slapping Rick soundly on the back. “Oh shit, good for you, Rook.”

The rest of the team pushed forward, passing his photo around. “All right,” Simon nodded. “I get it. Still think you’re an idiot.” He shoved the picture back at Rick. 

“She’s beautiful,” Aaron complimented. 

“We’ll try not to beat you up too bad before you go home to her,” Bob grinned widely. 

“I’m not sure about that,” Morgan challenged. “I spent an hour catching for this kid. The Rookie’s got skills.”

“Really?” Simon smirked. “I’ll believe it when I see it.” He continued to stare Rick down. Rick refused to flinch. 

“If you boys quit yapping, you’ll see it sooner rather than later,” Coach Horvath burst into the locker room. “Pitchers, catchers, you’d best be in the Bullpen in 10. Jones?”

“Coach?” the captain looked up, seizing his mitt. 

“Put that down,” Coach Horvath instructed. “I want to see the Rookie at BP.”

“All right,” Morgan nodded. 

“The rest of you, warm up.” Horvath barked. “The Rook here ain’t the only one who needs to prove himself.”

In a flurry of movement, the team dispersed, still chatting among themselves. Rick seized his helmet and bat and hurried after his captain. 

“Let’s see what else that arm has got,” Morgan challenged, knocking Rick upside the head lightly. 

“Yes Captain,” Rick grinned, stepping back out into the sunlight. 

-l-l-l-l-l-

There living room was full of boxes: wedding gifts left to disassemble, and half-packed belongings on their way to Berkley. They really ought to have been sorting through it, finishing their preparations for the upcoming months. Instead, Michonne was sprawled out across the couch, her feet in Rick’s lap as he talked. 

“I think I’ve got a chance of starting this season,” Rick ran his hands absently up and down Michonne’s bare legs. “Jones thinks I can do it.”

“Of course you can,” she grinned lopsidedly at him. 

“It’ll take focus,” he mused. “MLB is a whole other game.”

“Good thing I won’t be here then,” Michonne said, laughing to herself. 

“What do you mean?” Rick tickled her calves, enjoying the way she squirmed. “You saying I don’t focus when you’re around?”

“You focus,” she giggled, “Just not on baseball.”

“C’mon,” he challenged. “I ain’t that bad.”

“Baby, who spent a month in my dorm room that first semester?” she reminded him, shaking her head. 

“Ok,” he defended himself. “But it was a long drive back in forth in LA traffic. And we’d just started...you know.”

Michonne snorted. “You almost missed your final. If I hadn’t looked at the clock--”

“I was 18,” Rick reminded her. “And you were sleeping naked. I couldn’t help it.”

Michonne’s laughter escalated. “Like I said, baby. It’s a good thing I won’t be here.”

Rick digested this, tugging her legs until she slid down closer to him. He laid down as well, covering her body with his own. “I don’t think it’s just me who can’t focus…” he challenged. 

Michonne exhaled sharply, her knees spreading almost by habit. “Did I say it was?” she asked innocently. 

“Remember when I proposed?” he questioned, pressing his face into her neck. He could feel her heartbeat against his chest, thumping away furiously. “All you wanted to wear was this ring…” he toyed with her engagement band, spinning it around her finger. “For a whole weekend.”

She inhaled sharply, nuzzling her face into his. “To be fair, Rick,” she whispered. “That’s how I always feel around you.”

“Yeah?” his ego spiked at once. He reached for Michonne’s legs again, running his hands slowly higher. “You think about me at night?” he questioned. 

Her breath hitched. “All the time,” she confirmed. 

“You miss me when I’m not there?” he teased, pressing his lips into the sensitive spot below her ear. 

“You know I do,” she gasped, her hands clutching at his biceps.

“Do you wish I was with you?” he toyed with the edges of her denim shorts before sliding his hands beneath her. “Touching you?”

She began to shiver, her mouth falling open as she pressed herself greedily into his palms. “Yes…”

“You want me to take my time with you, Chonne?” he pressed his forehead to hers. “Go slow?” He tucked his fingers into the waistband of her shorts, tugging down just the slightest. 

“I--” she attempted to kiss him but Rick leaned back, allowing only the barest contact of his lips on hers. 

“Or do you want to feel me after we’re done?” he leaned forward, listening with satisfaction as a broken moan escaped her. Michonne drew her legs higher up his waist, trapping him in a familiar vice. 

“Rick…” she exhaled roughly. 

“Which is it, baby?” he teased. “What do you think about me doing to you when I’m not there?”

She trembled, lacing her hands behind his head. “Everything,” she leaned up to kiss him. 

“Damn,” he mumbled against her lips. “You must think about me a lot.” He chuckled as she let out a frustrated groan. 

“Rick…” she warned, rolling her hips into his. “You know I do.” She ran one hand down his chest, curling it into the front of his sweatpants. “I always want you,” she unknotted the ties of his waistband, hastily attempting to shove them down. 

He pushed her hands away, tugging them up over her head as he covered her mouth in a searing kiss. She moaned unabashedly, holding onto the armrest of the couch. 

“I gotcha, baby,” he assured her, sucking at her neck as he made quick work of her shorts. He slipped his hand beneath her panties, grinning as he felt her. She moaned again, relaxing into the cushions as he removed his own pants and jerked his shirt over his head. 

“Hard first,” she begged, flinging her own shirt off. 

He chuckled, bending down to suckle at her until she was a shaking, quivering mess. He took hold of her legs, bringing them both over his shoulders. 

“My pleasure,” he grinned wickedly, thrusting forward.


	3. Third Inning

Lawyer_grl41: How are you feeling, bb?

2000MVP: Not bad. Would b better if u were here though. 

Lawyer_grl41: You know i’ll be watching

Lawyer_grl41: I always do ;)

2000MVP: It’ll be my first game without my good luck charm :(

Lawyer_grl41: You’ll be great

Lawyer_grl41: Besides...I thought I gave you enough kisses to last a few games…

2000MVP: It’s never enough :’(

Lawyer_grl41: So needy…

2000MVP: U Love me anyway

Lawyer_grl41: Don’t rub it in. 

2000MVP: But seriously...how are classes? U settling in?

Lawyer_grl41: They’re good.

Lawyer_grl41: Super interesting. Going to be hard work though. 

2000MVP: U’ll be great. 

2000MVP: as usual

2000MVP: probably have straight As already

Lawyer_grl41: lol

Lawyer_grl41: What about you? 

Lawyer_grl41: Ready to pitch your first big league game?

2000MVP: Depends...

2000MVP: U wearing my jersey?

Lawyer_grl41: Of course :D

Lawyer_grl41: Classmates were asking how I got a Grimes one already

Lawyer_grl41: Then they saw my last name

Lawyer_grl41: You’re winning me a lot of friends, bb

2000MVP: U don’t need help with that lol

2000MVP: U have my jersey on in class?

Lawyer_grl41: Yup

2000MVP: Let me see…

Lawyer_grl41: Lol. Check your email.

2000MVP: one sec

2000MVP: Damn baby…

2000MVP: Please tell me you put pants on before you went to class

Lawyer_grl41: LOL obviously

Lawyer_grl41: that pic is just for you

2000MVP: I like it…

Lawyer_grl41: I hoped you would

Lawyer_grl41: Sorry, baby, but i have to go. 

Lawyer_grl41: Knock ‘em dead tonight, ok slugger?

2000MVP: U got it

2000MVP: Love you

Lawyer_grl41: Love you 2 <3

-l-l-l-l-l-

“You ready, Rook?” Aaron smacked Rick hard in the back from inside the tunnel 

“Yeah,” Rick swallowed, mustering a smile. He hadn’t been this nervous since he took the field the first time in high school. He’d spent the whole of the day with ESPN droning on in the background. Experts were weighing the pros and cons of the Dodger’s choice, questioning if he had the juice to go the distance. There was an ember burning in the pit of his stomach now, a thirst to prove himself. 

“Just breathe,” Morgan instructed lowly. “It’s your first game. All you gotta do is not choke.”

“Great,” Rick exhaled, staring off down the end of the tunnel. He could hear the rumble of the stands above them. His parents were up there, and a few old friends along with them. 

“Coach might put you in later,” Morgan continued on in that steady tone of his. “Throw a few strikes, wave at the fans, get your nerves out. You’ll be fine.”

Rick said nothing, only listened. He drummed his fingers frantically along the side seam of his pants. 

“Rook,” Morgan said sharply, drawing Rick’s attention. “You all right?”

“Yeah,” Rick adjusted his cap. “I’m good.” 

He ran out with the rest of his team, squinting up into the stands as the lights beat down on them. The roar was deafening as the fans screamed. He fought to keep the blush out of his cheeks when his name was announced and the crowd went even more wild. He waved his hat, looking into the faces of hundreds of strangers who all knew his name. 

His family was seated along the first base line, his mother, father, and brother, Jeff. His heart stopped when he saw the woman next to him. 

Michonne waved cheerfully, decked out in Dodger’s blue, his number emblazoned across her chest. His grin split his face. 

The National Anthem finished and Rick seized the opportunity to run over, hopping to the top of the wall. He could barely hear the crowd screaming as he came close. People reached for him, patting him on the back. His eyes stayed on his wife. 

“You’re supposed to be at school,” he said, grinning at her. 

Michonne leaned forward. “You really thought I would miss this?” She tapped his cap. “Not on your life, rookie.”

He leaned up and she met him halfway, kissing him like she had at hundreds of baseball games before. The cameras must have been on them because a cheer straight out of a sitcom went up, the ooooohhhhs echoing around the stadium. 

“Go get ‘em,” Michonne instructed. 

Smiling, Rick returned to the dugout. His team was watching in amusement. 

“You know how to play the crowds,” Simon observed, spitting into the corner. 

Rick shook his head. “Nah. My wife just surprised me. We do that every game.”

“Think you broke a few hearts already,” Bob quipped. He pointed to the jumbotron, where a group of girls holding a sign with Rick’s name on it looked defeated. 

“They’ll live,” Rick shook his head, flushing. 

“All right,” Morgan stepped up. “Enough of that. Rook, get your head in the game. That goes for all of you.”

“Ogg,” a coach called from the end of the dug out. “You warmed up?”

“Yes sir,” Simon stretched, reaching for his glove. 

“You’re in,” the pitching coach thumbed towards the mound. 

With a smirk, Simon pushed past Rick, strutting out of the dugout.

“Grimes!” the coach called to him. “Get to the pen. Horvath wants you to stay warm.”

“Yes coach,” with a nod, Rick seized his glove. 

From the bullpen, Rick could hear the game. The Dodgers were making easy work of the Padres, much to the crowd’s delight. Rick threw a few pitches to the second string catcher. It was sobering to see the game from the sidelines. Rick had started every game of his career since his freshman year of high school.

“Whoa,” the catcher, Dwight, shook his hand out after catching a particularly wicked fastball. “Go easy, Rook. We’re just warming up here.”

Rick nodded, turning as the crowd went wild. Simon had just struck a batter out. 

“They love him,” Dwight read Rick’s thoughts. 

“I know,” Rick had spent months watching ESPN weigh the pros and cons of having two young, unseasoned pitchers on a team. Rick may have been the number 1 pick, but Simon had a whole season of games on him. 

“You throw like that though, and I bet you’ll have Simon watching his back,” Dwight grinned. 

Rick chuckled, whipping in a screwball. “Maybe,” he mused. 

7 innings went by, each as uneventful as the last. Rick watched it all, taking it in. Morgan, though older now, had not missed a step. The catcher was experienced, calm, focused, even as the Dodgers lead crept up. The crowd rose for the seventh inning stretch, and Rick exhaled, restless. 

“Grimes,” the pitching coach called to him. “Get ready. Horvath wants you to show us what you got.”

Simon walked into the pen, sweaty, flushed, and self-satisfied. “Don’t choke,” he said on a laugh, tossing Rick a ball. 

Rick caught it and smiled. The crowd began to cheer as he walked out, but he could barely hear them. The whole of the stadium was just a dull roar. Morgan met him at the mound, mask up. 

“You ready for this, Rookie?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” Rick kept his composure, breathing in and out until his heart rate steadied. “What’s the play?”

“We’re up by 6,” Morgan reported. “Don’t let any runs in.”

“All right,” Rick nodded. He began his retreat. 

“And Rook?” Morgan added. “The crowd out there wants a show. You want to give it to them?”

Rick grinned. “Hell yeah.”

Morgan chuckled. “Follow my lead then.”

Rick took the mound. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he knew that hundreds of pairs of eyes were watching him. Only one pair mattered. 

Morgan signaled his first pitch, a fastball. Dutifully, Rick obeyed. The ball hit the glove with a smack he could hear all the way from the mound. 

“Holy smokes!” the announcer’s voice echoed around the stadium. “92mph and this rookie’s just warming up.”

Morgan signed for a second. Rick threw it with all his might. The batter clipped it, sending it soaring past first base, outside of the line. The crowd revved up even more, eagerly responding. Morgan signed for a curveball. Rick released it again, watching in satisfaction as the batter struck out. 

Rick chanced a glance at the jumbotron. A cameraman had found Michonne again and was focusing on where she and his family were cheering raucously. She blew the camera a kiss, pointing to the 41 emblazoned on her jersey. 

Grinning, Rick climbed the mound again. 

Only two Padres managed to hit in the last two innings, much to Rick and the Dodger’s satisfaction.

“Not bad, Rookie,” Horvath complimented, something almost like a grin on his wizened face. “Let’s see if you can keep it up.”

Jones patted him on the back. “Not bad at all.”

“For two innings,” Simon laughed. 

“Might be more one day,” Morgan observed calmly. “He listens to my calls.”

Simon rolled his eyes. “I struck out ten guys!”

“How many made it on base?” Morgan challenged. 

Simon huffed, spitting again. “Whatever…” he turned, gathering his gear. 

Aaron shook his head, watching Simon stalk off. “Piss poor attitude…” he mumbled. He turned to Rick. “Good few innings, Rookie. Can’t wait to see what else you’ve got.”

“Thanks,” Rick accepted the compliments with a smile. 

“Rook!” Bob yelled. “Let’s go celebrate your first game.”

“Let me grab my girl,” Rick shouted back, eager to see his wife. Adrenaline still pumping, he hurried out of the locker room. 

-l-l-l-l-l-

Michonne was beneath his arm, watching the scene in front of them unfold with one part amusement, one part bewilderment. 

“Did I miss something?” she whispered in Rick’s ear. “Was this a playoff game and I didn’t notice?”

Rick hid his laugh behind his glass, “I think that’s just...Simon.” 

His teammate was several pints in already, laughing boisterously from the center of a group of fans. No less than a dozen women were circled around him, all vying furiously for his attention. He was far from the only player indulging in the attention from the people around them, but Simon seemed to relish it in a way that was almost humorous to watch. 

“Shots on me!” he announced. His groupies let out a cheer. 

“Think he’ll buy us one?” Michonne asked Rick. 

Rick did laugh aloud this time, snorting. “Only if he spit in it first.”

Simon seized a bottle from the bar, pouring the liquor straight down his fans’ eager throats. Morgan attempted to intervene, whispering something to SImon. The pitcher shook it off, taking a long pull himself before returning to his admirers. 

Michonne shook her head, sipping her soda. “I’d take better care of myself if I were him,” she mused. 

“Oh yeah?” Rick tilted his head at his wife. “Why’s that?”

She shrugged, her lips turning up in a wicked smirk. “I don’t think he’ll be starting for much longer.”

Rick went scarlet, glad for the low lights in the bar around him. “You think so?” he hedged, holding his wife closer to him. 

She kissed his cheek. “I know so,” she responded without missing a beat.


	4. Fourth Inning

2000MVP: Baby, you should be sleeping

Lawyer_grl41: Me? What about you?

Lawyer_grl41: It’s only midnight

Lawyer_grl41: it’s like...2 in the morning for you!

Lawyer_grl41: >:(

2000MVP: Can’t sleep

Lawyer_grl41: Y? Are you nervous?

Lawyer_grl41: Seems like you’ve got nothing to be nervous about

Lawyer_grl41: Mr. 3-game home run hitter ;-)

2000MVP: Nah

2000MVP: Baseball I ain’t worried about

2000MVP: What’s bothering me is

2000MVP: Ur not here.

2000MVP: It’s too quiet

Lawyer_grl41: Are you saying i’m loud

Lawyer_grl41: ?

2000MVP: No.

2000MVP: Ur warm

2000MVP: soft

2000MVP: and some other things…

Lawyer_grl41: Lol. Nice save.

Lawyer_grl41: Anything I can do to help you sleep?

2000MVP: Well...

2000MVP: R U studying right now?

Lawyer_grl41: Just finished

Lawyer_grl41: about to get in bed

2000MVP: U bringing your laptop?

Lawyer_grl41: idk

Lawyer_grl41: I don’t want to keep you up

2000MVP: But I’m already up!

Lawyer_grl41: All the way up? ;-)

2000MVP: I could be…

2000MVP: U want to stay up with me for a bit?

Lawyer_grl41: I’m not taking my laptop to bed…

Lawyer_grl41: But i’ll call you

Lawyer_grl41: Deal?

2000MVP: Deal. Grabbing my phone.

2000MVP has signed off.

Lawyer_grl41: Lol, baby.

Lawyer_grl41 has signed off.

-l-l-l-l-

The National’s stadium shook with the force of the fans’ cheers, the echo reverberating around the stadium.

“That didn’t take long,” Aaron laughed, hitting Rick lightly on the top of his head.

Rick adjusted the batting helmet, smiling at his teammate. “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, picking up his bat from the corner of the dugout.

“Don’t choke,” Bob joked. “They’re expecting a helluva show.”

“Maybe point like Babe Ruth,” Gabe suggested. “That’ll really give them something to scream about.”

“I know!” Simon stepped forward, all faux eagerness. “How about you just hit the damn ball and stop worrying about whether or not they like you?” He spat into the corner.

Morgan shook his head. “Only one person in here stays concerned about that, Ogg,” he pointed out. Simon didn’t look chastised a bit.

“Well,” he jerked his head towards the base. “Better get out there and give the people what they want then.” He smacked Rick on the ass with more force than was necessary.

“Will do,” Rick replied, stretching his arms overhead. He turned the bat in his hands.

T-Dog laughed at the display. “Go get ‘em slugger.”

The crowd roared all the louder as Rick left the dugout, heading for homebase.

“Next up to bat, number 41, Rick Grimes…” the announcer of the hometeam read in a flat voice. It did little to dissuade the support from the crowd. Perhaps they had no love for the Dodgers, but that disdain did not seem to extend to the southern boy who had managed to hit one home run per game for the last four games.

Focusing his mind, Rick reached home plate. He choked up, knees bent, elbows up, breathing rhythmically. The pitcher on the mound was known for his screwball. Rick had studied tape of him the night before in his hotel room, taking advantage of his newfound insomnia to prepare.

The first pitch hit the catcher’s mitt with a resounding thud. The crowd let out a cry, but Rick was nonplussed. He cracked his neck, honing in.

The second pitch never made it to the catcher. Rick’s bat connected with a solid smack, sending the ball soaring arching over centerfield. He watched it with satisfaction, head tilted up as he ran for first base. The outfielders scrambled, rushing towards the wall to try and snag it. Rick smiled as it landed deep in the stands, causing a frenzy as spectators dove for it.

Rick took the rest of the bases at a jog, waving towards a section of blue in the crowd as he crossed homebase again. His teammates greeted him warmly.

“Five games in a row,” Morgan patted him on the back, watching the replay on the jumbotron. “Not bad, Rookie.”

“We’re moving you up in the lineup,” Horvath told Rick. “Let’s see how long this streak of yours lasts.”

“Sounds good, coach,” Rick removed his helmet, grinning as he shook out his hair before putting his cap back on.

Simon spat again, pushing past Rick as he headed to bat next.

“Don’t let him bother you,” Aaron whispered, handing Rick a stick of gum.

“I don’t,” Rick winked, popping the gum in his mouth before taking his place beside his teammates to cheer Ogg on.

-l-l-l-l-l-

“Baby!” Michonne’s voice was bright inside the phone receiver. “Congratulations!”

“How do you know already?” Rick chuckled. “I barely found out.”

“I have my sources,” she said cryptically. “And ESPN ran the story during the game highlights.”

“It’s kinda surreal,” he laughed, wishing Michonne was beside him and not hundreds of miles away.

“Why?” Michonne asked. “We always knew you’d be here.”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “But being here is completely different than imagining it.”

“Well, take it all in, All Star. You earned it.”

“I kinda always pictured you being here,” Rick said before he could stop himself.

“Well, you could have played worse. Held out until I was done with school. Bad planning, baby.” His wife quipped without missing a beat.

“Damn,” Rick shook his head, grinning despite himself. “I didn’t think of that.”

“Are you going out to celebrate tonight?” she asked.

“Thinking about it.” Rick sighed. “I’m tired though. Got a few more games before All Star Break.” He’d been planning on coming home to California, spending the weekend with Michonne in the Bay Area. The victory was bittersweet.

“Well, I’m sure your mama is waiting with a good old southern dinner for you when you get to Atlanta.” Michonne laughed. “Eat double biscuits for me.”

“That I can promise,” he looked towards the door of his hotel room. “Any chance you’re alone right now?” he asked, voice deepening.

“I wish,” Michonne sighed. “But I’m studying tonight. There’s a huge test coming up.”

“Right,” Rick nodded, shifting his one-track mind. “Are classes still killing you?”

Michonne laughed wryly, “classes aren’t killing me, but not sleeping might.”

“Baby, you promised you were going to be careful with this,” he reminded her.

“I know, I know…” she exhaled. “I just really need to nail these tests.”

“You need to take care of yourself,” Rick stood up, walking to the nightstand beside his hotel bed. He plugged his laptop in and opened it. “You always make yourself sick when you do this.” Once, during their undergrad, Michonne had gotten herself so ill from stress that they’d spent a night during midterms in the ER.

“I promise I will,” she reassured him. “Please don’t worry baby.”

Rick said nothing, only sat on his bed, attempting to gather his thoughts.

“Baby,” Michonne began again. “Don’t do that thing.”

“What thing?” he hedged. He bent over to untie his shoes, holding the phone between his ear and shoulder.

“That thing where you’re mad at me but you don’t want to yell so you just get all quiet,” Michonne explained.

“I ain’t mad,” he said. “I’m...worried.”

“You don’t need to worry about me,” Michonne soothed.

“But I do,” Rick responded. “You got so sick that time in the middle of the night. I’m not there Chonne--”

“I’m not going to the ER,” she cut him off firmly. “And I appreciate that you worry, baby, I do. But we’re supposed to be focusing on you making the Home Run Derby, not my sleep habits.”

“You want me to focus?” he asked.

“Always,” she responded easily. “This is your dream, Rick.”

“And you’re my wife, Chonne.” Rick sighed roughly. “If you think I’m going to put baseball before you, then I haven’t done a good job at all showing you what my priorities are.”

A long silence stretched between them, charged and awkward. Somewhere, hundreds of miles away, Michonne sniffled. Rick’s stomach clenched.

“Chonne--” he began again.

“No,” she cut him off. “Rick, I know you would never put baseball before me. I know it. It’s just….” she broke off. Rick remained silent, hoping she’d continue. “I miss you so bad, baby. I’m trying to be positive. But the internship is so time consuming, and school is so stressful. I see you on tv and I just wish that I was with you.”

“I wish you were here too,” he said. His throat felt tight. “But you can’t stop doing what you’re doing because of me.”

“I could have taken a year,” she said. “I didn’t have to rush to school. This is our honeymoon period and I just dove into work.”

“And I didn’t?” Rick chuckled wryly. “Baby, we did what we had to do. Would you be happy just following me from place to place, watching a hundred games? What if something happened that delayed school even more?”

“Like what?” she asked, her voice wavering.

“Like you getting pregnant,” Rick said. Michonne laughed lightly. “I’m serious, Chonne,” Rick found himself smiling. “If I had you here every night, that would be a real concern.”

She laughed in earnest. The sound of her amusement warmed him greatly. “You’re probably right,” she admitted.

“It’s been known to happen from time to time,” Rick leaned back against the headboard of his bed.

“I’ll make sure I rest,” Michonne said. “You’re right. I’m stressing too much. I’ll ace this test, then I’ll take a break. A whole weekend.”

“Good,” Rick grinned. “You ace this test and I’m going to win this contest for you.”

“Oh you are, are you?” Michonne sounded amused.

“Yup, then I’m bringing the trophy home. And you and me are going to celebrate.” The thought alone was enticing.

“Sounds good, All-Star,” he could hear her smile in her voice. “But I better go study now.”

“You’re at your room?” he asked.

“Yup. Just me, myself, and I,” she chuckled.

“All right baby, thanks for calling. I love you.”

“I love you too,” she promised, disconnecting.

Rick lowered the still-warm phone from his face, dialing in a number blinking up at him from his computer screen. A voice picked up on the other end. A quick conversation later and Rick hung up, satisfied for now.

“Grimes,” T-Dog’s voice at his door startled him. “Come get dinner, man. We’re going to try this BBQ place.”

“Coming!” Rick called, slipping his shoes back on and heading outside.

He returned several hours later, full, content, and tired. His laptop was still open, glowing from its place on the nightstand. He clicked into his email, spotting his wife’s name.

A picture of her, surrounded by empty takeout containers and books greeted him. He grinned at the image, satisfied to see that she’d devoured the baked macaroni--her favorite-- down to crumbs. She was wearing a Dodgers t shirt and smiling.

“Thank you, All-star,” she’d written simply.

“You’re welcome, baby,” he typed back. “My pleasure.”


	5. Fifth Inning

Rick’s arms burned but he choked higher up on the bat, cracking his neck. Around him, the sounds reverberating through the Atlanta stadium could shatter glass, a crescendo of screams and cheers vibrating through to the core of him. The ball came whipping in again from the mound and Rick swung, his muscles shaking with the impact. 

“Holy smokes, that makes a dozen for the Rookie! I don’t know what’s in the water in LA, but this southern boy is showing out!” the announcer yelled delightedly. 

The crowd responded, roaring their approval. Somewhere in those stands was Rick’s family, his hometown friends, all cheering for him with all their might. He appreciated it, but he wasn’t showing off for them. 

The clock ticked down in the final round of the Home Run Derby. Rick managed to hit three more balls, sending two soaring into the stands. 

“14 Home runs here in round two!” The announcer was beside himself. “That’s a rookie record. One thing’s for sure, folks, we can expect big things out of number 41 here.”

Rick removed his hat, waving at the crowd as he walked back towards the dugout. He caught a glimpse of himself on the jumbotron, sweaty and exhilarated, his hair mussed from his cap. The cameras cut to the stands, revealing rows and rows of women. Some of them had signs with his name on it, some were in his jersey. One woman had a posterboard with a marriage proposal on it. Rick flushed, gesturing to the ring on his left hand in response and shaking his head. 

A disappointed cry went up from that section, along with raucous laughter from the rest. 

“Sorry ladies,” the announced chuckled. “The rookie sensation has been off the market for a while.”

Rick smiled good naturedly as he retreated to the dugout. Morgan was waiting for him, standing with the National League players, each outfitted in their matching jerseys and team ball caps. 

“Think you hit enough?” Jones teased on sight, clasping Rick’s shoulder. 

“I promised my girl that I’d win,” Rick explained with a sheepish smile. People behind him were screaming his name, trying to get him to turn around. He threw them a look over his shoulder and a wave. The screaming only increased. 

Jones laughed. “Well, I think you might be keeping that promise.” He watched as a competitor took his place at the plate. “You’re winning fans for sure,” Jones observed, listening as the crowd fired up as the clock ticked down. 

“Don’t care so much about that,” Rick fought to keep the blush out of his cheeks. 

Morgan nodded. “That’s good, Rook. But they care a lot about you.” He gestured up to the jumbotron. Rick’s competitor had hit 9 home runs, but there were only seconds left. The crowd was going insane already. The women with the signs began to lose their minds, jumping and screaming. Rick’s blush deepened. Morgan laughed. “Well, get out there, winner,” he shoved Rick forward. 

The trophy was heavy as Rick hoisted it over his head, grinning. ESPN was on the field, shoving a mic in his face. 

“You’ve only been in the league a few months, but you’re already making waves,” the reporter said. “What motivates you?”

Rick shook his head, shrugging just the slightest. “This is what I’ve wanted to do since I was a kid,” he explained. “This is what I dreamed about.”

“And what about winning the Home Run Derby? Did you dream of that too?” the reporter grinned. 

Rick laughed. “I told my wife I’d win it for her. We had a deal. So I hope you studied hard for that test, baby.” He looked into the camera. 

The crowd exploded again and the reporter laughed. “Well, enjoy the rest of the weekend, Grimes. You earned it. Can’t wait to see how the last half of the season goes for you.”

“Thank you,” Rick was eager to get away, but he made himself smile, waving at the crowd and posing for pictures that left white spots dancing in his eyes. His ears rang by the time he left the stadium, heading out with the other All Stars to celebrate. It was surreal, being surrounded by legends, by guys he’d wanted to emulate for years. 

The club was crowded, hundreds of people packed into close quarters, rubbing against one another. Lights flashed overhead, throwing shadows and colors across the walls. The low thrum of the bass vibrated inside his already sensitive ears. Rick leaned against the bannister separating the VIP section from the regular riff raff, watching the crowd dance. He was three beers in, feeling tipsier than he had in months. 

“Hey Rook,” a voice called to him. Rick turned, half expecting to see Jones. 

“What’s up, Rook?” he fired back easily, grinning at the approaching pitcher. 

“Good show out there today,” the tall young man hit him squarely on the back. “You made us all look good.”

Rick shrugged. “It was fun,” he held his hand out, still cool from being wrapped around a beer bottle. “Nice to meet you, Monroe.”

Spencer Monroe shook it, smiling easily. “Nice to meet you too.” The Giants’ Rookie had at least five or six inches on Rick. He looked down at him, still grinning. “I’d ask you how the season is going for you, but I think I know the answer.” 

Rick chuckled. “Too early to speculate on all that.”

Spencer laughed along with him. “ I don’t know about that. A 7-game home run streak?” he took a pull of his drink, eyes still on Rick. “Might be you’re peaking early.”

Rick cocked a brow. “I promise you I ain’t.”

“Yeah?” Spencer challenged. “You’re heading to San Francisco after the break. We’ll see if you can make it 8 games.”

Rick nodded. “I’m sure we’ll see,” he agreed. “I heard AT&T park is a good stadium for home runs.” He straightened up, looking Monroe in the eyes. “The balls go right in the water.” Rick grinned. 

“If you can hit anything I throw at you,” Spencer’s thinly veiled threat came out at a joke. Rick did not laugh with him. “Ah, ease up, Grimes. It’s a rivalry. We gotta talk a little shit, right?”

“I don’t talk shit,” Rick informed him. He took another gulp of beer, letting the liquid cool him. 

“Hotheaded,” Spencer noticed. “I heard that about you.”

“What else did you hear?” Rick asked, cocking his head at the rival pitcher. 

“That you and I are competing for Rookie of the Year,” Spencer answered.

“Like I said,” Rick reminded him. “It’s early in the season.”

“It is,” Spencer agreed. There was something in his smile that did not quite reach his eyes. 

Rick turned his attention back out to the crowd, watching a cluster of people writhe to the rhythm. His mind raced at once to Michonne, to clubbing with her in LA. He’d learned to love dancing, especially when she was plastered against him, rolling herself into his body to the music. Juvenile began to play, and the club exploded with enthusiasm. The song was on of Michonne’s favorites. 

“There’s some fine ladies out there,” Spencer’s grin grew more predatory. He waved at a gaggle of women down below. They responded at once, flocking towards them. 

“That’s all you,” Rick drained his beer, starting to move away from the approaching group. Spencer caught his arm. 

“C’mon, man. What’s the fun of being famous?” Spencer asked. 

Rick shrugged his touch off. “Winning,” he answered simply. He set his bottle down on the table, leaving Spencer behind with his fans. Fishing his phone from his pocket, Rick glanced at the screen. He had missed a call from Michonne. 

“Where you headed, Grimes?” this time it was Jones, looking at ease as he sat on one of the lounge couches in the back. Rick paused. 

“Home, Captain,” he said. “Or the hotel, at least.”

Jones looked hard at him. “No girls here you like?”

Rick scoffed. “There’s only one woman I want to look at, Captain. I’m gonna go call her.” He brandished his phone as evidence. 

Jones smiled. “Well then, mind if I bum a ride back?”

Grabbing a cab turned out to be more of an event than Rick anticipated. The crowd was not eager to allow them to depart. Fans from every walk of life were packed onto the sidewalk, shoving markers at the pair of Dodgers, begging for autographs. 

Rick accepted a pen, scrawling his name out on jerseys, hats, balls, magazines, and any scrap of paper they could throw at him. Morgan stood at his side, doing the same. 

“Can we get a picture?” a mother asked, gesturing to her children below. Dutifully, the two men bent over, posing with the kids. Within seconds, a line had formed. 

Rick’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He longed to answer it. Perhaps Morgan noticed, because after 15 minutes or so, he addressed the crowd. 

“Sorry folks,” he smiled winningly, waving as he steered Rick towards a waiting car. “Gotta get the rookie home. He’s on a curfew.”

Fans pressed around the vehicle, smiling brightly at them as they crawled in. One of the bolder female fans made it to the car door. 

“Where are we going?” she asked suggestively, leaning over to hang her cleavage in both men’s faces. 

“Home,” Morgan said pleasantly, shutting the door between them. 

“Shit,” Rick exhaled when they were on the road. His ears were ringing. 

“You’ll get used to it,” Morgan assured him. “It’s part of the job.”

“And the girls?” Rick asked, shaking his head. “Beating them off part of the job too?”

Morgan laughed. “Only a handful of us are on that plan,” he said. “You’re going to have to find a way that works.”

“How do you do it?” Rick asked. Morgan was married too. His wife, Jenny, was often around, along with their son. 

Morgan shrugged. “It died down a bit after a few seasons. Plus, there’s always someone newer to keep their attention.” He patted Rick on the back. “So thanks for falling on that grenade, Rook.”

Rick relaxed into the seat of the car, mind reeling. When he finally made it to the sanctity of his room, he locked the door behind him and dialed Michonne’s number from memory. 

“I’m telling you, baby,” he imparted, “these groupies are crazy.” He was lying face up on the center of his bed, too tired to do much else. 

Michonne only laughed. “Well, they were bad in college too.”

“Not ‘trying-to-get-to-my-hotel-room’ bad,” Rick argued. “There were three of them waiting in the lobby.” He’d ran up the emergency stairs ten floors to avoid them. 

His wife’s laughter only escalated. “I mean, I can’t blame them.”

“Michonne,” he groaned, bracing himself for her teasing. 

“There’s not many who can resist the famous Rick Grimes,” she sing-songed. “Home-run-hitter, fastball-thrower-extraordinaire, oh-so-sexy-southern boy--”

“Don’t start, baby,” Rick chuckled despite himself. 

“Tell those girls that,” she fired right back cheekily. 

Rick laughed in earnest, running his hand over his face. “I don’t even want to talk to them.” Their screams still rang in his ears. 

“Tell them I’ll talk to them if they want someone to chat with,” Michonne offered. “But it’s nice that you have fans, baby. What about the ones not trying to sleep with you?”

Rick snorted. “They’re nice. Most of them are kids. They want autographs, like I’m somebody special.”

“You are,” Michonne sniggered. 

“Nah,” Rick shook his head. “I just play ball.”

Michonne sighed. “Sure,” she said skeptically. “And you’re just already in contention for Rookie of the Year, and won the damn Home Run Derby--”

“Speaking of,” he cut her off, “what was the grade?”

“98%,” Michonne reported gleefully. “Nailed it.”

“Yes,” Rick fist pumped. “We’ll have to celebrate when I get back.”

“I’ll be there, all in blue,” Michonne laughed. “You love getting me in enemy territory.”

“The Giant’s rookie gave me attitude tonight,” Rick related. 

“Seems like everyone wants a piece of you,” Michonne didn’t sound remotely surprised. “Kick his ass next week.”

“That’s the plan,” Rick agreed. “Then it’s just you and me, for a whole weekend.”

“Mmm,” Michonne hummed. “That’ll make those groupies hella jealous.”

Rick chuckled. “Why? You got plans for me?”

“Tons of them,” Michonne said. “48 hours worth.”

“Yeah,” Rick perked up, suddenly less tired. “What kind of plans?”

“Well,” Michonne was using that whisper of hers that drove him crazy. “I was thinking we better take advantage of every minute. So right when you get here, I’m dragging you to my place.”

“Then what?” his mind was filling in the gaps already, but he wanted to hear her say it. 

“Then I’m going to get you undressed,” she said breathily. “And into the shower.”

“You gonna join me?” he asked. 

“Uhh uhh,” she hummed the negative. “I’m going to be getting ready while you’re in there.”

“Ready for what?” his voice sounded raspy even to his own ears. 

“I was thinking mimosas,” Michonne listed. “And then after that, I’ve been wanting to go to this little spot in the city where you can see Golden Gate Bridge. Then if you’re up for it, the trolley, and maybe hit the pier--”

“You’re so mean,” Rick complained without venom, chuckling. 

“Oh come on,” Michonne feigned as though she was insulted. “I bought you tickets and everything. I’m planning on treating you, All-Star.”

“That sounds good,” he said earnestly. The prospect of two days with Michonne at his side held an appeal he could not articulate. 

“Then, when we get home, I’m going to show you exactly how proud I am of you,” she said casually. 

“Yeah?” his mind flipped back again in a heartbeat. 

“Oh yeah,” she affirmed. “You look so good on tv, baby. I got plans for you for sure. You won’t be thinking about those groupies at all,” she promised. 

“I ain’t thinking about them now,” Rick growled. He could almost hear her smile. “You want to know what I’m thinking about?”

“Tell me,” she baited. 

Rick happily complied. 

Hours later, his phone had died, it was late into the night, and Michonne had fallen asleep, promises for their time together hot on her lips. Rick rinsed his face in the bathroom, studying his reflection in the mirror. His stubble had been coming in heavily the last few weeks, growing like weeds. He reached for his razor, his normally nightly ritual. Somewhere, from out in the hall, the sounds of women laughing caught his ear. 

Rick sat the razor down, a plan forming in his mind. He ran his hand over his chin, wondering how long it would take to grow a bushy beard. 

“Guess I’ll find out,” he mused aloud, flicking the light off. 

He returned to bed, drawing back the covers, eager to dream of when Michonne would be beside him again.


	6. Sixth Inning

Rick had to admit that the Bay Area held some sort of appeal, not in the least because Michonne lived there. Still, he was much more of a SoCal kind of man. It was clear that the animosity was mutual as he entered AT&T Stadium to raucous catcalls. The new arena shook as he took the field, the decades old rivalry alive and well.

“Told you about the boos,” Morgan said, calmly looking around the stadium. The world around them was a sea of orange and black. Somewhere, along the first base line, Michonne was wearing blue. Rick knew she was probably getting as many jeers as he was. This was the first time that their pre-game kiss had been ridiculed outright.

The Giants walked past them, eyeing the Dodgers up. Spencer paused in front of Rick. “Nice beard,” he snorted, taking in the dark facial hair now covering Rick’s jaw. “You trying to hide that baby face?”

“Nah,” Rick laughed. “Just wanted to give you a night where you’re the prettiest one in here.”

The Dodgers roared with laughter. Spencer smirked.

“See you out there,” he moved away, staring Rick down the whole time.

“Let it fire you up,” T-Dog suggested. The whole team wore a look of determination.

“They’re just booing because they’re scared,” Siddiq was nonplussed as the Dodgers took the field to warm up. The crowd did nothing to disguise their disdain.

Rick glanced out at the crowd, amused by the whole thing. He was no stranger to rivalries, but he never before felt so hated by a whole city. “They’re going to be pissed when I knock a ball out of this beautiful park of theirs,” Rick observed, staring up at the far wall of the stadium. His hands were itching to grip the bat.

“That’s the spirit,” Aaron complimented, laughing.

“Good luck with that,” Simon snorted. “You think that other pretty boy is going to let you even get off a hit?” He glared across the field to where Spencer was engaging with fans, signing autographs from outside the Giants dugouts.

“He can try and strike me out,” Rick shrugged. He was actually looking forward to it. Spencer’s smug face was grinning at him from every corner of this damned stadium. Rick wanted to make sure that he wasn’t smiling when the game ended tonight.

“Hell yeah,” Bob looked enthused. “Let’s shut these fools the hell up.”

On this, at least, the whole team could agree. To his credit, Simon pitched a hell of a first two innings, letting only 4 Giants take the base in total. Rick applauded him with the rest of the Dodgers, eager for his chance to take the plate. Spencer also was showing out, whipping his fans into a frenzy as he struck out the first 3 LA hitters in quick succession.

Morgan caught him as he pulled his helmet on at the top of the third, “That kid isn’t going to throw fair,” Morgan warned lowly.

Rick turned to his captain. “So what’s the play?”

Morgan sucked his teeth, eyes out on Spencer on the mound. “Let the first one go. He’s going to try to embarrass you. But he’ll slip up.”

“If I see my pitch, I’m taking it,” Rick said, watching his rival as well.

“Good,” Morgan nodded. “But that first one--”

“I’ll let it go,” Rick agreed. He pulled his batting gloves on. “Thanks, captain.”

Morgan grinned at him. “Go get ‘em, Rook.”

The boos crested like a wave as Rick left the dugout. He ignored them, walking towards home plate as casually as he could muster. Spencer was watching him from the mound, a look in his eye that Rick liked not at all. He offered the pitcher a crooked smile before choking up on the bat, bending his knees.

As predicted, the first pitch was a curveball, engineered to leave Rick fumbling. Rick held still with effort, letting the strike smack into the mitt. The crowd screamed its approval. Their cheers grew more quiet as Rick nearly knocked 2 more into stands, fouling by a narrow margin. The air became tense, the audience waiting with baited breath. Rick cracked his neck, winding up for the next pitch.

It came and Rick connected, sending the foul ball darting down the first base line and into the stands. The crowd fired up even more, starting a chant of “Strike him out!”

The words echoed in Rick’s ears, but he ignored them. Smiling, Spencer released his next pitch. It collided directly with Rick’s shoulder. The pain was instantaneous, blossoming and spreading quickly down his limb into his fingers. Rick dropped the bat on instinct, shaking his arm out, his teeth gritted. He could hear the shouts and curses of his teammates over the screams of Giants’ fans. Overhead, the jumbotron played a replay. It could not be more clear that Spencer had beaned him on purpose.

From the mound he shrugged, looking Rick dead in the eye. Rick felt anger pulse through him, numbing the pain. He wasn’t the only one pissed. The camera had found Michonne in the audience. She was raging, cursing, shouting directly at Spencer from her place in the audience.

The announcer whistled into the mic. “Looks like little Mrs. Grimes has some words for our star pitcher.”

The camera zoomed in on Michonne but she wasn’t dissuaded, continuing her tirade. They were forced to cut away as she started coming up with some colorful descriptors for what she thought of Spencer.

“You ok?” Morgan asked Rick as he tossed his bat back towards the dugout.

“I’m fine,” Rick assured him, turning back. He jogged up the first base line to take the base, pausing only to blow his wife a kiss as he passed her.

“Kick his ass, baby,” she instructed as he went by, clearly still angry.

Rick winked at her, stretching his arm as he took the base. T-Dog was next to bat. He managed a line drive straight between the shortstop and third base. Rick took off like a shot, rounding second and third, heading for home. Spencer had the ball again, but Rick lingered between the bases, daring the pitcher to throw him out.

“Looks like the two rookie sensations are playing chicken,” the announcer crowed, delighted.

Rick returned to the base, glancing at the dugout. Morgan was staring at him. His captain gave him a slight nod. Rick took a deep breath, his eyes trained on Spencer. He hopped off the base for two more pitches, feigning as though he were going to sprint home. Spencer was irritated, red in the face, distracted. Rick hid his smirk.

The catcher threw the ball back and Spencer prepared to pitch again. Rick saw his opening. He took off, digging in, kicking up red dirt behind him. The crowd went wild, screaming, cursing, but Rick could only hear the whip of air as it rushed past his ears. He lost his hat, but did not slow down, watching from the corner of his eye as Spencer balked, trying to decide whether Rick was bluffing or not.

He threw wildly, inaccurately, sending the ball flying past the Giant’s catcher. Rick sped up, lungs burning. He dove, rushing head first, hand out. His fingers touched homebase a moment before the catcher’s mitt hit him hard in the back.

“Safe!” the umpire declared. The Giant’s fans screamed in frustration. The camera again panned to Michonne, this time cheering and jumping in his jersey, uncaring for the mood of the crowd around her.

Rick stood up, dusting the red dirt from his now stained uniform. He glanced at Spencer as he headed to the dugout, offering him a wink for good measure.

“Oh Lord folks,” the announcer chuckled. “I think we’re seeing the beginning of a career-long rivalry here tonight.”

The Dodgers smacked Rick on the back as he returned, delighted. “Let’s keep the momentum going,” Morgan instructed, grinning.

“Rookie,” Coach Horvath called. “Head to the pen. I want you warmed up. Monroe likes beaning you so badly? Let’s see how he likes it when you’re on the mound.”

“Coach,” Simon complained. “I had momentum.”

“So does the Rookie,” Horvath retorted. “Let’s see what he can do with it.”

“You better at least hit him hard,” Simon snarled, glaring at Spencer from across the field.

Rick threw well, keeping his focus as he took the mound. Morgan’s calls proved fruitful as they managed to strike out two Giants, allowing two more on base. When Spencer strolled over to home plate, bat in hand, Rick took a deep breath to calm himself.

They expected him to bean him; Rick knew this. Spencer had started the war, and by all rights, Rick should finish it. He liked the idea of knocking Spencer on his smug ass but there was something else that he liked better.

The Giant’s rookie stopped smiling after Rick threw two strikes in quick succession. The whole of AT&T was watching as Rick wound up for a third pitch, sure that the moment was coming. Instead, the ball smacked soundly in Morgan’s mitt. Spencer swung a second too late, missing the fastball completely.

“And the Dodgers rookie makes quick work of the 4th inning,” the announcer stated morosely. “Giants take the field.”

Rick resisted the urge to wave at Spencer as he headed back to the dugout. The tension remained palpable through the next few innings. The two teams remained neck in neck, tied at one run until the bottom of the eighth. Both Rick and Spencer managed to pitch well, but their teams were fired up, fielding and throwing out any potential scorers on both sides.

Rick gripped the bat again, eager to be back up to the plate. He could feel Spencer’s glare from yards away, could feel the eyes of everyone in the stands on him. His home run streak was at seven games, just one away from the record. Rick had no intention of losing that tonight.

The first pitch came in and Rick swung hard, hitting it, despite it being low, with all the force he had in him. It was clear as it soared overhead that he’d managed it. The ball climbed ever higher as Rick ran for first base, watching in great satisfaction as it went straight over the stands and out of the stadium.

Michonne fired up immediately, visible in the crowd as she celebrated. Rick grinned in her direction as he crossed home plate, listening to the groans around him. He dove back into his dugout, beaming as his teammates congratulated him, cheering and patting him on the back. Even Simon mustered a smile when the game wrapped up one inning later: Dodgers: 2 Giants: 1.

The stadium cleared out as Rick answered reporters’ questions. Michonne had made it to the baseline and was watching proudly, clearly eager to see him. He caught her around the waist as the crowd moved away, uncaring that he was still covered in red dirt.

“Holy shit, baby,” she exclaimed into his ear, hugging him tightly around the neck. Rick held her, delighted to have her back in his arms.

“They aren’t booing anymore,” he teased, watching the last few fans trickle out in disappointment.

“You’re making it hard for us to take a tour of the Bay,” she giggled. “But it was worth it.” She pulled back to study him, running her hands down his face. “This is new,” she remarked, tugging at the short hair of his beard.

“I can shave it when we get back,” he stroked it, watching for her reaction.

“I’ve never seen your face like this before,” she tilted her head, making a decision.

“I was hoping it’d keep the groupies away,” he admitted.

She laughed immediately. “I don’t think that’s going to work, baby.”

“No?” he asked, surprised.

“No,” she confirmed. Her eyes were darkening with something familiar. “I like it.” Michonne wet her lips, holding tightly to his arms.

Rick swallowed. “Let me go shower, then we can go home.” His adrenaline was up. He had no intention of partying tonight, at least not with anyone but Michonne.

“Just come home with me,” she said quickly.

“Yeah?” he asked lowly, aware that they weren’t quite alone yet.

“Please,” she demanded, tugging at him.

The ride home was the longest of his life. Rick sat in the passenger’s seat, still in his uniform and cleats. He rubbed patterns into his wife’s bare legs, longing to trail his fingers up, longing to reach higher.

“How far away is the school?” he asked, voice strained.

“With no traffic?” Michonne looked at him. “40 or so minutes.”

Rick groaned. “Baby…” he wasn’t going to last that long.

She grinned. “Good thing I got a hotel room in the city,” she told him. “Didn’t think my roommates at the dorm would appreciate all the noise.”

He smiled in approval, leaning over to kiss her soundly at a red light. His body responded to the taste of her at once. Michonne pressed down on the gas, lurching forward.

“Shit,” she gasped breathlessly. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he laughed. “Just get us there.”

They took the back entrance into the hotel, running up the stairs together. Rick couldn’t keep his hands off her, looping his fingers in the belt loops of her shorts, tucking his hands into her back pockets. Michonne let out gasps to encourage him, pressing against him. She fumbled with the keycard but got the door open at last. Rick locked it behind them.

She was on him at once, tugging at his hair, pulling him frantically. Rick reciprocated eagerly, filling his hands with her curves, grinding himself against her.

“Need you now,” Michonne mumbled against his mouth, nipping at him before coming back in for a searing kiss. She unbuttoned her shorts, shaking herself out of them.

“Leave this on,” Rick begged, gathering her jersey in his hands.

Michonne complied, unbuttoning it just enough to expose herself to his affections. She unclasped the front hook of her bra, spilling out and into his eager palms.

“Take this off,” she instructed, popping the buttons of his uniform open one by one. Rick reached for his pants, yanking the belt open and tugging his cleats and socks off. Michonne slid her hands in the front, pushing past the zipper to grip him.

He groaned, biting at her shoulder, pushing her back across the bed. Michonne sprawled across it, waiting as he looked at her, watching him eagerly. The picture she presented was enticing beyond reason, his number draped over her as she waited for him.

“Fuck baby,” he shed his jersey and pants in quick succession, crawling naked towards her. “I missed you so much.”

“Show me,” she demanded. She ran her legs along his, drawing him in.

Rick grabbed her roughly, dragging her towards him until he could press himself full against her. Her chest brushed his as he crushed his mouth against hers, parting her legs and drawing them up over his arms. The heat of her nearly undid him as he went to his knees in front of her. Michonne shuddered, crying out throatily.

“Did you miss me?” he questioned, transfixed as she trembled. He leaned in to kiss her, his tongue darting out.

Michonne braced herself against his shoulders, drawing in a broken breath. “Yes,” she cried out, panting.

“Tell me,” he requested.

“Every game,” she gasped. “Every time I watched you, or we we talked--” she moaned as Rick slid his hands forward, hooking his thumbs into her panties and pulling them off.

“What did you do?” he baited, kissing up her legs.

She moved to grasp his back, her nails trailing his damp skin. “I wished you were there. I pretended you were…” Rick yanked her legs up higher still, draping one over his shoulder.

“Did it feel good?” he wondered out loud. He leaned forward, licking at her gently until she was writhing against him.

“Yes,” she nodded, frantic. “But not as good as you.” She ran her palms down his back, and then up again. Her fingers curled into his hair almost painfully.

He cursed against her, increasing the pressure of his mouth, seeking to push her over the edge. He needed to feel her fall apart around him, needed to hear her screaming his name. “Shit, Michonne…”

She couldn’t manage an intelligible response. Instead she began to babble, gasping, shaking, chasing a release he’d longed to give her for weeks. Then, scream she did, her voice going hoarse, her body tightening into a vice, her fingernails digging into him. She held him against her, her hips moving in spasms.

Rick stood up, his eyes on his wife. She was panting, winded, sprawled halfway across the mattress, still wearing his number. He gathered the fabric in his hands, adrenaline pumping through him as though he were on the mound pitching.

“Baby, turn over,” he didn’t mean for the suggestion to come out like a command, but the gruff tone of his voice sent a shudder racing through Michonne. She tossed him a salacious look before obeying, rolling slowly over, her feet still on the ground.

“Do you like me in your number?” she asked on something almost like a purr, wiggling for his benefit.

“You know I do,” he bent to kiss her, biting lightly at her shoulder and neck. His hands moved on their own accord, one resting on the rounded cheek of her ass, the other snaking around her. She let out a shaky moan. “Every time I see you in the stands baby, wearing my jersey...shit.” He surged forward, pushing into her. Michonne screamed outright, arching backwards to bounce against him.

“I love watching you play,” it was no secret, but his wife’s words sent a thrill through him nonetheless. “Especially when you get fired up.”

“Yeah?” he huffed, his legs going shaky from the tight hold she had on him.

“So proud of you,” Michonne gasped. She reached behind her, curling her fingers around his. Rick held tight.

“Damn baby,” he groaned into her ear, “You feel so good. Been thinking about this for weeks.” She began to whine, her hand clutching his almost painfully. “Missed you so much,” he continued, listening to her moans change in timbre. “You’re so beautiful,” he leaned back just to look at her, tracing the contours of her face with his free hand. “Damn, I’m lucky.”

She cried out, tumbling over the edge. The tight pull of her body set off explosions behind his eyes. Rick’s world went white in a rush of pleasure. His wife’s moans rang in his ears as he fell forward against her, still inside of her. She maneuvered until she could face him, her dark eyes filled with an expression she saved only for him.

“Rick,” she smiled up at him, looking at him in that way that always threatened to undo him completely. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“I’m glad to be back,” he told her. He felt as though he were melting, dissolving. He collapsed atop her, suddenly exhausted. Michonne held him, stroking his hair lazily. Rick buried his face into the crook of her neck. Her fingers traced the bruise forming on his shoulder.

“Maybe next season,” she began, voice quiet, “I can travel with you in the summer.”

Rick grinned, rolling over so he could face her. “I play better when you’re there,” he kissed her nose, listening to her giggle.

“You won’t get sick of me?” she teased.

Rick dragged her closer still, clinging to her rounded hips. “Never,” he promised. “In fact, in 48 hours, you’re going to be ready for me to leave.”

“Oh yeah?” she challenged, clearly skeptical.

“Oh yeah,” he dipped his hand to touch her, enjoying her gasp. “You’re going to be tired,” he informed her. “And as bowlegged as me.”

She laughed, looking delighted by the mere prospect. “Is that so?” she asked, still giggling.

“Yup,” he informed her cheekily. “First up, I want a bath.” His muscles ached. “And I want you in there with me.”

Rick sat up, lifting her into his arms. She held onto his neck as he brought them into the connected bathroom, kissing him all the way there.


	7. Seventh Inning

The third batter of the inning tossed his bat back towards the dugout, jogging triumphantly towards first base. Rick swallowed his frustration, anger burning like an ember in the pit of his stomach. From behind the plate, Morgan called a timeout. He strode calmly towards his rookie pitcher. Dread crested inside of Rick. 

“What’s going on, Grimes?” Morgan lifted his mask, looking Rick squarely in the face. “Where’s your head tonight?”

Rick exhaled, stepping closer. He could feel the cameras on them, the eyes of the stadium. “I’m distracted,” he admitted. The words of the sports analysts rang in his ears. His last few games had not gone nearly as well as the first part of his season had. 

“That’s obvious,” there was no venom in Morgan’s words but they stung nonetheless. “You’ve got a few seconds. So listen up.” The captain and catcher fixed Rick with his best no nonsense stare. “I’m sure whatever’s going on that’s got you all tied up in your head ain’t something easy to deal with. But there is nothing you can do about it now, right?” He looked expectantly at Rick. 

“Right,” that was part of the problem, truth be told. 

“But you know what is happening right now?” Morgan asked him. “This game.”

“I know,” Rick nodded, digging his cleats into the red dirt beneath him. “The last couple of games--”

“Have nothing to do with this one,” Morgan said firmly. “There’s three innings left. We’re down by 4. Pull yourself out of your head, Rook. Focus.” Rick took a few deep breaths, stilling the temper building within him. Morgan watched him. “There’s always going to be something going on out there, Rick. But in here, you’re at work. Understood?”

Rick met his captain’s eyes. “Yeah,” he confirmed. “I got it.”

“Then let’s go to work,” Morgan prompted. He handed him the ball. 

Rick took the mound again, attempting to clear his head. He watched for Morgan’s signal, winding up to throw his fastball. 

“82mph,” the announcer dutifully relayed the information. “It’s nothing to scoff at, but I think we can all agree, this rookie sensation has been off his game lately.”

Rick forced the voice out, dragging his fingers across the laces of the ball. In two more throws, he managed to strike the batter out. He returned to the dugout, trying to not look as relieved as he felt. 

“Pressure getting to you?” Simon asked, chewing noisily. His teammate did nothing to hide his glee. 

“Everyone has tough games,” Aaron imparted. “Don’t stress it, Rook.”

Simon shrugged. “Bet that pretty boy bastard up north is going to be happy though. Making it easier for him to snag Rookie of the Year.”

“Whose team are you on, Ogg?” Siddiq was afronted at once, turning to Simon from his place at the dugout. Simon straightened up, ready to meet Siddiq halfway.

“It’s fine,” Rick shook his head, stilling Siddiq. 

“It’s not,” the shortstop narrowed his eyes at Ogg. Simon was completely unruffled. 

“I’m just saying,” Simon shrugged. “What kind of teammate would I be if I didn’t encourage our golden boy a little bit?”

“You call that encouraging?” Bob asked from his corner of the dugout. He shook his head. 

Simon chuckled. “I mean, he’s playing like shit.”

“I’ve seen you play worse,” Siddiq fired back at once. 

Simon opened his mouth to retort. Morgan beat him to it. 

“Shut it, all of you,” Jones instructed. “We’ve got a game to win. You can fight on your own damn time.”

The dugout silenced at once. Simon winked at Rick before strolling away. Rick could feel the blood rush to his face, burning just below the skin. 

“Don’t let him get to you,” T-Dog warned, seizing a bat. 

“He’s right though,” Rick shoved a handful of sunflower seeds into his mouth and began to chew furiously. “I’m playing like shit.”

T-Dog just snorted. “So play better,” he said simply, slipping from the dugout to take his place at bat. 

The Dodger’s lost by 2 in the end. Rick retreated down the tunnel with his team, morose. 

“It ain’t your fault,” Bob reminded him. “We play as a team. We lose as a team.”

Aaron smacked him on the back. “There’s two games left in this series. We’ll get them.”

Rick only nodded. He went about the tasks of showering and changing, avoiding both the press and the urge to look at his phone. He pulled on a plain black t-shirt and jeans, wondering how he was supposed to sleep a wink tonight. 

“Rick,” Morgan found him sitting in front of his locker. “C’mon, Rookie.” He gestured towards the door. 

Rick stood, following his captain out. He was surprised when Morgan hailed a cab instead of heading towards the team bus. “We ain’t going to the hotel?”

Morgan shook his head. “You ever had Texas barbeque?” he asked lightly. “It’s my favorite.”

“Not really in the mood for going out,” Rick hedged. 

“Tough shit,” Morgan chuckled, low and throaty. “We’re having dinner. So try and stop sulking for long enough to have ribs with me.”

Rick followed reluctantly, half-listening as Morgan chatted with the cab driver, giving him an address not far from the Rangers’ stadium in Arlington. They went to some restaurant or another. Rick kept his head down as they were seated in the back. 

“All right,” Morgan shook his napkin out, placing it in his lap. “What the hell is wrong with you, Rick?”

Rick paused, buying himself time by staring at his menu. 

“Is it something with your wife?” Morgan guessed. 

“How’d you know?” Rick looked up, both grateful that Jones guessed and dreading the ensuing conversation. 

“One thing seems to get you twisted up in this world, and it’s that lovely wife of yours.” Morgan shrugged. “Are you fighting?”

“Nah,” fights Rick could handle. They never lasted long anyway.

“She ok?” Jones asked, concern at once rife in his voice. 

“She’s fine,” Rick exhaled. “Might be pregnant.” His chest tightened as he said the words, the crux of his distraction revealing itself.

There was a beat of silence. “Well,” Morgan took a gulp of his ice water. “That ain’t the worst thing in the world.”

“I know it shouldn’t be,” Rick began, choosing his words carefully. “Part of me is excited.”

“The other part is scared as hell I bet,” Morgan couldn’t hold in his chuckle. 

The emotion released at once as Rick began to speak in earnest. “We’ve talked about kids, sure. But it was supposed to be something that happens years from now. Not when she’s in school and I’m all around the damn country.”

Morgan nodded sagely. “Well, the thing about kids is they come when they come, Rick. And if you and your wife aren’t careful...they’ll be coming sooner rather than later.” He shot Rick a knowing look. Rick went scarlet at once. 

“I know she’s worried,” Rick admitted. “She’s trying to act like she has it all under control, but…” He swallowed. “This shit is hard.”

Morgan only cocked a brow. “What did you think it was going to be?” he asked. 

“I don’t know,” Rick admitted. “I love ball. I always have. I love being out there, love playing.”

“But you love your wife,” Morgan said simply. “I know the feeling.”

“How do you and Jenny deal with it?” Rick tugged at his own beard, a nervous tick that he’d picked up in the last few days. “How did you deal with having kids when you’re gone half the time?”

Morgan looked thoughtful. “Well, for one thing, loving each other helps. And this life, Rookie, it ain’t something you can do forever. It’s been over 10 years for me. Some years were easy, some years were hell. But you make the most of your time together.”

“Your son though,” Rick began. “Don’t you miss him?”

“Like hell,” Morgan said at once. “His mama and I knew what this would be though. And soon, I won’t be playing anymore. I’ll be home all the time. They’re gonna get sick of me.” Morgan laughed to himself. “But for now, they travel with me in the summer. We call each other as much as you and that wife of yours do. And we take it day by day.”

“What if she is pregnant, and I ain’t there for most of it?” Rick asked. The thought had kept him awake for days. Would Michonne finish school? Would she move back to King’s County while he stayed on the road so she wouldn’t be alone? Would she stay at their house in LA? Could she come with him for the rest of the season?

“Did she take the test yet?” Morgan asked. 

Rick shook his head. “She’s just late,” it was embarrassing to talk about in public. “The doctor says we won’t know for a little bit longer. We’re going to go together once we’re back in LA.”

“Well then,” Morgan held his palms out. “You’re doing all you can.”

“How’s she going to finish school?” Rick continued on, the worries falling fast and thick now. “How’s she going to do this by herself?”

“Well, for one thing, she ain’t going to be alone, unless you’re planning to tuck and run,” Morgan said. 

“I ain’t,” the thought had never even crossed his mind. 

“For another thing, being pregnant when you’ve got money and resources isn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened in the world, Rook,” Morgan shook his head, clearly holding in a laugh. “You’ll play out the season. You’ll be home before she’s even showing. And you’ll be parents.” He shrugged. 

“You make it sound simple.” Rick stared at his captain over his menu. 

Morgan set his own menu down. “Theodore’s got kids. Siddiq has one too. Bob’s got a daughter, I’ve got my son. We all make it work in our own way. But if you keep playing the way you are, you won’t have to worry about being on the road much longer. A team doesn’t need two star pitchers. They’ll trade you even further from Michonne.”

The thought hit Rick like a punch to the face. “Shit,” he breathed. 

“Yup,” Morgan turned his eyes back on the menu. “So call your wife tonight. Calm yourself down. And be at work when you’re at work. I’m betting Michonne ain’t failing school in the meantime.”

Rick considered this. A laugh bubbled to his lips unbidden. “No,” he chuckled. “I bet she ain’t.”

“I’m going to get brisket,” Morgan announced. “The chicken here’s good too.” He looked at the approaching waiter. “I hope you’re ready for a big order,” he said cheerfully. “Gotta get this Rookie his protein so he can play better tomorrow.”

Rick blushed as the waiter got a laugh at his expense. 

“Truth be told, I’m from SoCal,” the waiter whispered conspiratorially. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’m a Dodgers’ fan for life.”

Morgan shook the waiter’s hand. “Then get this kid something to fuel him tomorrow, if you don’t mind.”

“I’ve got you,” the waiter grinned, tucking his notepad away. “I got money on us making the playoffs. Don’t know why they don’t start you, though.” His eyes fell to Rick. “Ogg is good, but you’ve got something special.”

“Thanks,” Rick’s throat felt tight, even as his embarrassment mounted. 

“Looking forward to watching you, man.” The waiter grinned. 

In a moment he was gone, promising to bring back the world’s best barbeque when he returned. 

“So,” Morgan began again, tucking into the biscuits on the table. “Anything else on your mind, Rick?”

Rick took a gulp of the water in front of him, feeling somewhat better. “No,” he shook his head. “Just hungry.”

Morgan grinned. “Good. Nothing food can’t solve.”

They returned to the hotel, bellies full, though Rick’s mind refused to quiet. He sat on his balcony in a deck chair, watching the summer sun set low in the distance. The weather was already changing here, cooling at night in a preview of the autumn to come. Rick dialed Michonne’s phone number, hoping she had made it home from her internship. 

“Hey baby,” Michonne sounded tired. 

“Rough day?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” she sighed. “You?”

Rick leaned backwards in the chair, propping his feet up. “I’ve had better,” he told her. 

“I made a doctor’s appointment,” Michonne said. “For when you get back. The drugstore tests are pretty inaccurate.”

“Maybe we should take one though,” Rick suggested. “Just in case.”

“I did,” she said simply. “Bought one on my way home.”

Rick’s heart rate sped up at once. “You did?”

“I haven’t looked at the result yet.” Michonne sounded nervous. “I just...I think I’m scared.”

“Are you scared it will be positive?” he asked. 

There was another pause. “I’m not sure,” she answered. “Are you?”

“I don’t know,” Rick wished he was more articulate. “I mean, we’ve talked about kids.”

“Yeah, but Rick…” Michonne hesitated. “We’ve never seriously talked about it. I mean, I know we both want them but…”

“I always pictured that we’d be older,” Rick admitted. 

“I’d want to be done with school, at least,” Michonne said. 

“So would we wait until I’m retired?” that idea seemed far off. Rick mentally calculated how long he expected to play. Morgan had a decade on him at least and still had a few good years left of catching. 

“That’s a long time,” Michonne echoed Rick’s thoughts. “I think I would just want to wait until we’re used to all this, you know? Sometimes I forget we’re married.”

“You do?” Rick realized too late how startled he sounded. 

“Not like that,” Michonne quickly corrected herself. “We haven’t had any time to just be together. And adding a baby on top of all this--”

“Yeah,” Rick rubbed his brow. “I know, Chonne. I talked to Morgan today. He had some advice.”

“Yeah?” Michonne prompted. 

“He said that no matter what happens, we can’t worry about it. We ain’t the only MLB couple, you know.”

“I was thinking,” Michonne inhaled. “That if it is positive...maybe I should finish this semester and take a break.”

Rick paused, wondering how to respond, wondering what it is that he wanted. “Chonne, you know I’ll support whatever you want to do,” he started. “But you don’t have to decide now.”

“Should I...” Michonne sounded moments away from crying. “Should I look at the test?”

“If you want to,” Rick answered. He had half a mind to hope a flight back to LA, consequences be damned. 

“If it’s positive--”

“Then at least we’ll have some idea, one way or the other,” Rick said. “And I’ll be back by the end of the week. We’ll see the doctor together.”

“All right,” he could hear his wife gathering her courage. “Ok, so the box says…” she rooted around hundreds of miles away. “It says if a blue line shows then I’m pregnant. Or not. Shit, wait. I need to read it again.” Rick waited with baited breath as Michonne studied the instructions. “Ok so if it’s two lines, then I’m pregnant.”

“Ok,” Rick attempted to sound confident. “So how many lines are there?”

There was another pause. Then, “just one.” Michonne let out a sigh. 

“Just one,” Rick echoed. A cocktail of emotions surged through him. “How do you feel?” he asked his wife.

“Relieved,” Michonne answered. “Maybe just a little bit disappointed. What about you?”

Rick sighed. “I gotta be honest, Chonne.” He glanced upwards. “I’m glad we aren’t pregnant right now. I want babies, but I want to be there for it.”

“Well,” Michonne mustered a laugh. “You were certainly there for the conception part.”

Rick snorted. Still, he had questions. “I don’t get it. You’re on the pill--”

“I looked it up,” Michonne answered at once. “Certain kinds of antibiotics can negate the pill.”

“Antibiotics?” Rick blinked in confusion. Understanding dawned. “Chonne…”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” she said. “But you were right. I stressed myself out into a little cold…” She sounded almost embarrassed. 

“Baby,” Rick grumbled. 

“I was going to tell you,” Michonne insisted. “But we got distracted.” This was an understatement. “I forgot all about my sinus infection once you were there. I’m just not used to having to wait to tell you things. You were always just there.”

A pang of guilt seized Rick. “You know you can call me anytime, Chonne.”

“I know,” Michonne said. “But I think my internship and teachers might frown at me calling you in the middle of work or classes.”

“Maybe,” Rick’s mind spun. 

“Baby, we’re going to get used to this,” Michonne guessed at his thoughts. “It was going to happen no matter what. We happen to have awesome jobs.” 

“I’m sure we’ll figure it out,” Rick echoed her. 

“Well, I’m going to be done with school before you’re out of the MLB. And then my schedule will be a lot more flexible. And you will have an off season. I mean, with the playoffs and the World Series, it won’t be much of an off season but still--”

Rick began to laugh despite himself. “The World Series, really?” he questioned. 

Michonne answered immediately. “Well, maybe not this season. They need to start you first. But you’re probably going to make the playoffs, and I’ll be there for that.”

“Got it all planned out, huh?” Rick asked, shaking his head. 

“Well, not all of it. But a few things are sure.”

“Like the World Series?”

“Like us being together. No matter what.” Michonne sounded absolutely sure. “In the meantime, you enjoy your rookie year, and I’ll enjoy the nice weather up here.”

Rick smiled, chuckling to himself. “The Bay was nice, I gotta admit.” Michonne had shuttled him around San Francisco and Berkeley. He didn’t mind that foggy little city, but he found he liked the sun much better. “But your room was my favorite part.”

“That’s how we got into this mess,” Michonne laughed. “We have to be more careful.”

“Maybe tell me when you’re sick,” Rick suggested. “Then I’ll buy backups before I come home.”

“Fair enough,” Michonne sounded just a bit put out. “I didn’t mean to hide it from you. I just didn’t want to stress you out before the All Star Break. And by the time you were back, I forgot.”

Since they’d been 18 years old, Rick had known every cold, every sniffle, nearly every mood Michonne had. “Well, I’ll be back this weekend,” he reminded her. “I ain’t leaving your side.”

He could hear her smile. “Good,” she said simply. “I sleep better when you’re there.”

Rick slept better with just the thought, his mind clearer than it had been since he’d left home. The team still struggled with the rest of the series, but managed to pull out a win. They boarded the plane home in better spirits than they’d been in a while. The team piled in, doning headphones and books, or settling in to sleep the next few hours away. Coach Horvath sat next to Rick. 

“You’re staring the home series,” he announced with no panache. “I think it’s time, Rookie.”

Rick blinked at him in surprise. “All right,” he agreed, taken aback. 

Horvath chuckled raspily. “What? You think you’re the only guy who’s ever played a few bad games?” he shook his head. “At least you can take feedback. Jones says you’re ready. So you’re starting. Don’t let us down, all right?”

“All right, Coach,” Rick grinned. He watched as Horvath walked back up the aisle, sitting next to the pitching coaches. From the row in front of him, Morgan turned around, winking before going back to his book. 

Rick settled in his seat, looking forward to seeing Michonne even more now.


	8. Eighth Inning

The baseball felt odd in his hand, somehow different. Rick knew without looking the feel of the laces, the texture that had grown to be part of him. He glanced down, rubbing his thumb along the hide. The rounded edges were frayed, rubbed raw, slick with some unknown substance. Rick blinked at it stupidly, unsure what to do.

It was Morgan who made the first move, calling a timeout. Nonchalantly, the catcher strode towards him.

“What’s up, Rook?” he asked, pausing between the mound.

Wordlessly, Rick tossed the ball to him. Morgan caught it. Confusion creased his face for a moment, then a sudden understanding.

“I’ll get a new one,” he said simply. Rick nodded. The bat boy was gracious enough to deliver a fresh one, pressing the ball into Rick’s mitt. Rick returned to the mound, determined to focus. Still, the thoughts would not leave him.

Simon had given him this ball, catching it from the umpire before tossing it in Rick’s direction. It had only been in his teammates hand for a moment, but somehow, had made it to Rick defective. It was no secret that players cheat, fraying the ball to heighten their pitches, cutting it if they were especially bold. It was one thing to not turn in a battered ball. Doctoring it outright was something different altogether.

“Good inning,” Simon complimented when Rick returned to the dugout at inning’s end. He almost managed to sound sincere. “Must be something in the water today.”

Bob gave Simon a confused look, brow furrowing. “Why are you being so nice?” he asked, clearly suspicious.

“The Rook ain’t so bad,” Simon spat. “If we make the playoffs, I might stop talking shit altogether.”

Rick bit his tongue. He chanced a glance at their captain. Morgan’s expression betrayed nothing, but he nodded slightly at Rick.

“Alright guys, there’s two more innings,” he reminded them. “Stay focused.”

Rick rested the last two, watching from the sidelines as Simon whipped pitch after pitch towards the opposing team. He observed closely, looking for tells, wondering whether Ogg had hidden it on the brim of his cap, or perhaps on his belt buckle. If he was indeed cheating, it wasn’t readily apparent to Rick. His face grew heated as anger filled him.

“How do you two manage to play together?” the ESPN reporter asked at the post-game press conference a few hours later, grinning winningly at the pair of young pitchers. “It’s gotta be competitive for two guys like you.”

Simon sat by Rick’s side, smirking back at them. Rick could not find it in himself to smile. The two of them had been rotating their starts. The strategy was proving successful for the team. The Dodgers were quickly closing in on a bid for the playoffs, led by two top-caliber pitchers.

“Ah, you know,” Simon leaned in towards the mic. “The Rook’s got a lot to learn, but he’s alright. I gotta rest my arm sometime.” He smacked Rick on the back as though they were old friends.

Rick did not reciprocate. His mind was on the ball from earlier. Morgan had looked grave in the locker room, his expression suggesting that this was only the beginning of the issue.

“What about you Rick?” the reporter asked, pressing. “Do you like sharing the spotlight?”

Rick cleared his throat, attempting to be friendly. “Uhh...I like winning,” he answered. “And we do that as a team.”

“But who will be starting in the playoffs?” the reporter would not be satisfied.

“Whichever of us throws better,” Simon answered, still grinning.

They filed out of the room, Rick walking in Simon’s footsteps. Behind them, the reporters packed up their gear, heading home.

“What’s got your panties in a bunch?” Simon questioned, chewing as he looked at Rick from the corner of his eye.

Rick’s scowl deepened. “That ball today. It came from you,” Rick recounted.

“What ball?” Simon rolled his eyes. “There’s damn near a thousand of them rolling around the stadium.”

“You know which one,” Rick said lowly, aware of the audience not far from them. “It was oiled all up on one side.”

Simon laughed outright then. “How the hell am I supposed to know what happened to one ball? You need to lighten up, Rookie. It’s a game,” he smacked him on the cheek. Rick felt his temper rise.

“You need to watch yourself,” he warned. “You’re going to get us in a world of shit.”

“Us?” Simon looked perplexed. His lips though were quirked beneath the scruff on his face. “It was you with the ball, Rook. Might want to remember that.”

With a wink, he strolled off.

Rick returned to the empty locker room, fuming and confused. He toyed with the idea of calling Morgan, but quickly set it aside. Simon was baiting him, that much was clear. Would he go so far as to frame Rick for cheating? Had he been cheating all season himself?

The sun was still up when he returned home from the afternoon game. Rick’s body ached in a number of ways, both familiar and new. He hadn’t felt like this in a long while, since before college at least, when he was preparing to play ball at a higher level. From the day he first held a bat, Rick had wanted this, to start in the MLB. He wanted it still. He just hadn’t counted on how tired it would make him.

His house was quiet when he arrived, the air stale and still inside. Rick opened the door then dutifully trekked from room to room, jimmying the windows open. A warm breeze wafted through the dusty screen covers. Someone had been in to water the plans, the only sign of life in the whole of the house. Little green sprouts lined the windowsills, reaching out towards the sun. Michonne had potted those when they’d first moved in, newly engaged, and feeling as though they were playing pretend at being adults.

Rick had a fleeting thought that perhaps they should get a pet, a dog-- or more likely, a cat. The house needed something to keep it company. Blowing out a sigh, he moved down the hall to their bedroom. His duffle bag hit the floor in the corner near the hamper. There was nothing he wanted more than a nap right now, except perhaps to be napping with Michonne. One glance at the clock confirmed that she wouldn’t be home for a half hour at least.

Rick tugged at his practice jersey. He’d showered briefly at the stadium, but his sore muscles could use more relief. He worked the buttons open, in no particular hurry as he trudged barefoot around their bedroom. He turned on the stereo to keep himself awake, noting that Michonne had left some R&B CD inside.

The sultry beats suited him just fine. Heading for the bathroom, Rick tossed his hat on the nightstand, fiddling with the buttons of his jeans. He began to wash his face, splashing water into his beard and hair. Between the rush of the faucet and the rhythm of the music, he couldn’t hear his wife come home.

“Hey baby,” her voice nearly sent him jumping when she greeted him. Rick spun, face still dripping to find her grinning at him from the doorway. She’d grabbed his hat on her way and was holding it in her hands.

“Hey,” he smiled, reaching for a towel. “I didn’t know you were going to be home already.”

“Traffic wasn’t bad,” she explained. “The taxi made it here from the airport in record time.”

“I can come get you next time,” he offered. He ought to have gone straight there after practice. A pang of guilt hit him.

She only smiled. “But then I don’t get to come home to surprises like this.” Her eyes raked over him appreciatively, making no secret of what she thought of his physique.

“I was going to clean up for you,” Rick said. Thoughts of a shower seemed ions away now. He wanted Michonne in his arms, wanted to take her to bed and think no more of baseball.

Michonne licked her lips. She sat his hat atop her head sideways. “And I was coming home early to take care of you,” she told him.

“How were you going to take care of me?” Rick’s mind ran wild.

Michonne stepped forward, hooking her fingers into the waistband of his unbuttoned pants. “Come here and see,” she baited.

Rick followed, walking her backwards out of the master bathroom and towards the bed. Michonne glanced at their stereo, smiling mischievously.

“What?” Rick asked, leaning forward to kiss her. 112 sang in the background, the low beat thrumming.

She grinned wider against his lips. “I was saving this song for later,” she told him, smoothing her hands up his bare chest so that she could push his jersey from his shoulders. “But now...” she continued her task of undressing him, pushing his pants down until he was only in his briefs.

“Now what?” Rick stood before her, enjoying the obvious appreciation in his wife’s eyes.

“Now,” she stepped backwards, “I want you to lay down on the bed. On your stomach.”

He grinned at her, side stepping to comply. He could hear her behind him, stepping out of her shorts. The mattress shook as she joined him, straddling his back, trapping him between her toned, warm thighs.

“Are you sore?” she asked, her voice a seductive croon.

“Yeah,” his muscles ached everywhere, but not nearly as much of other parts of him now that his wife was pressing her breasts into his bare back. He wanted to roll over, pull her on top of him, but he refrained. He could smell the scent of her coconut oil as she began to stroke his back. Her touch felt phenomenal. He let out a groan at once, sighing contentedly.

Her hands found his shoulders, moving slowly, methodically. “I’ll take care of you,” she whispered, kissing him before continuing her massage. She set a torturously slow rhythm, kneading and rubbing until he became putty in her hands.

“Shit, Chonne,” he exhaled, relaxing into their sheets. “That feels so good.” The Dodgers’ physical therapists had nothing on his wife’s touch.

“You’ve been playing so hard, All Star,” she moved her palms down to his lower back. “You’re earning that starting spot.”

“You work hard too,” he reminded her, his voice muffled.

“But we aren’t talking about me,” she pressed a kiss between his shoulder blades. “We’re talking about you.”

Rick would truthfully rather been talking about anything else. He knew Michonne’s internship was coming to an end, knew her classes were wrapping up nicely. She was, and had always been, incredibly self-sufficient, content to keep her struggles to herself. Rick wondered if her work frustrated her, whether she ever wanted a moment to herself that had nothing to do with baseball.

“I want to hear about you,” he said. He reached over his back to grasp her leg. Michonne chuckled softly.

“What do you want to hear about?” she asked, leaning over him. She began to work a knot out of his neck.

He held in a pleasured sigh. “Are you ready for finals? How’s the Bay? Are you applying for any internships?” he listed his inquiries.

She laughed again, pressing her thumbs into his skin. “I feel ready for finals. I want them to be over with,” she recounted. “The Bay is cold,” she said, laughing. “I miss the sun. And you.” Her hands moved down his back. “And I’ve been thinking that I would take a semester off,” she said lightly. “If I don’t have an internship, we have the whole winter together.” It was clear she’d been thinking about this for a while.

Rick reached behind him, stilling her hands against his back. “Are you alright with that?” he asked.

Michonne draped herself over him. Her locs tickled his skin. “I’m tired, to be honest, baby,” she admitted. “I think I need a break.”

His heart clenched. “Maybe we take a vacation,” he suggested. “Pack our bags and just go somewhere for a few months.”

“A few months?” she traced patterns on his back.

“Why not?” Rick questioned. “We can afford it.”

Michonne paused at this, as though the thought was only just occurring to her. “I guess we can.”

“Where do you want to go?” he asked her.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Everywhere.”

Rick laughed. “We might have to narrow it down. I’m sure you have a list somewhere.”

She kissed his cheek, wrapping her arms around him. “What if...we just pick a place? No plan, just this once?”

“Just spin the globe and go?” The idea was appealing, though it surprised him.

“If you’re up for it,” she said. She worked her hands into his hair, rubbing at his scalp.

“I can’t wait,” he did sigh this time, the mere thought of uninterrupted months with Michonne enough to calm him. A silence stretched between them, comfortable and warm.

“Do you want to tell me what’s bothering you?” Michonne asked him, threading his hair through her fingers.

He laughed despite himself. “What makes you think something is wrong?”

It was Michonne’s turn to laugh. “Baby, I’ve been sitting half naked on your back for two songs now, and you haven’t rolled me over.” She tapped his head. “So what’s wrong?”

Rick snickered, but quickly sobered. “I think Simon might be cheating,” he said, his face still in the pillows.

Michonne’s hands paused. “What makes you think that?” she asked calmly.

Rick moved, shifting to hear her better. “The ball today at the game. There was something on it. Something I didn’t put there.”

Michonne continued her work, but digested this silently. In the background, the music continued. “You told me lots of players cheat. Especially pitchers.”

“They do,” Rick admitted. “Most of the time it ain’t anything big.”

“Well, we figured he would do anything to keep starting,” Michonne leaned forward, working her fingers into his hair.

Rick sighed. “I think he’s trying to make it look like I’m the one cheating.”

Michonne’s hand froze. “He said it outright?”

“He’d never do that,” Simon was much too much of a coward. “But as good as.”

“Have you told Morgan?” she asked. He could hear the carefully controlled anger in her tone.

“I think he knows,” Rick assured her.

Michonne considered this. “Roll over, baby,” she instructed, drumming her fingers against his bare back. Rick obeyed at once. She settled in his lap. “What are you going to do?” she asked him, cupping his face between her hands.

“I ain’t going to let him win,” Rick answered at once. “Doesn’t matter what he tries.”

She smiled. “Then don’t worry about it,” she suggested. “Just be careful.”

Rick tilted his head at her, amused. This was not the last time they would talk about this, he knew. Michonne was making a valiant effort to cheer him up. “What should I be worrying about then?”

“The point of this,” she reached for his shoulders again, massaging gently, “was to relax you.”

“I’m relaxed,” he assured her. He wound his arms around her waist, pulling her closer to him still.

“Are you sure?” she teased, arching one brow. She shifted in his lap, pressing her center into his.

“Damn sure,” he tightened his hands around her thighs, his fingers brushing the edges of her underwear. The evidence of his desire for her sat heavily between them. He rolled up into her, but his wife stopped him.

“Let me,” she said. Michonne reached for him, grasping him snuggly with warm hands. He gasped outright, thrusting into her grip.

Her pace was steady even as she ground her hips down into his. Rick reached for her waist, his hands slipping beneath the lace of her panties, his grip sure to leave a mark.

“Does that feel good?” she asked him, smoothing her palms up and down.

“You know it does,” he grunted out from between gritted teeth. Michonne had learned to touch him exactly how he’d liked years, ago. She’d only improved since then.

She sat up, lifting off of him enough to roll his briefs down, and then her own. When Rick attempted to sit up and remove her shirt, she stilled him with a hand to his chest. “Lay back, Rick,” she pushed him.

Rick did as he was told. Satisfied, his wife lifted herself up, positioning him before sinking back down on him inch by inch. A litany of curse words escaped him. Michonne only smiled, rolling her hips slowly.

“Michonne…” he groaned her name, torn between asking her to speed up and taking every bit of this delightful torture she inflicted. He clutched hard at her, filling his hands with the curves of her hips and ass. He looked up at her, watching as she parted her lips, tossing her head back, his hat hanging on precariously. He longed to watch her bounce from the effort, to see each tremor as it ran through her.

Sitting up, he seized the hat, tossing it bodily across the room before reaching for the hem of her shirt. It joined their clothes on the floor in seconds.

“Impatient,” she giggled against him, but offered no further complaint. Rick buried his face in her chest, toying with the clasp of her bra until he achieved his goal. His mouth was on her at once, drawing her in until he wasn’t the only one moaning.

He splayed his hand across the smooth skin of her back, holding her close. Her pace didn’t falter, even as she began voice her pleasure. Rick rolled his hips, slowly at first, gaining speed. Michonne began to bounce in earnest. She wrapped her arms around his neck, tucking her head against his shoulder.

Rick seized the opportunity, kissing Michonne deeply as he rolled them over. She let out a little squeal, but otherwise offered no protest. He settled her beneath him, across the pillows, her locs sprawled out around her. Rick bent to kiss her again, twice in quick succession. She wrapped her legs around his waist, holding him close.

He couldn’t remember the last time they’d been like this, unhurried, unfrenzied. Michonne ran her hands across his back, sighing beneath him.

“I love you,” she whispered, pressing her lips to his.

“I love you too,” he promised, taking his time with her.

-l-l-l-l-l-

Morgan caught Rick in the clubhouse, before warmups began. The Yankees had yet to arrive, as had many of the Dodgers. Somewhere, Michonne was wandering around with Morgan’s wife, Jenny, taking full advantage of the free food. Some part of him missed the pleasure of watching major league games beside her. Next season, maybe they could carve out some time to be fans again.

“Rook,” Morgan’s voice was deep and calming as ever. “I need to talk to you.”

Rick had waited in anticipation of this moment for two days now. He’d contemplated calling Morgan half a dozen times. Michonne knew he was anxious, and had done her best to distract him. He’d thrown himself into helping her study instead, curling up in bed with his wife and stacks of notecards each a foot high. Law was a language that he did not speak, but he was thrilled to know Michonne was fluent, rattling off answers without even glancing up from her laptop as she typed out paper after paper.

“I figured you would,” Rick answered.

Morgan nodded gravely. “That ball...was that the first time?”

“As far as I know,” Rick rummaged in his locker, retrieving his glove. “You catch for him. Have you seen anything?”

Morgan shrugged. “A scuffed ball or two. Nothing everyone else isn’t doing. That though...If an umpire had seen that--”

“There would have been hell to pay,” Rick said. Their playoff spot was on the line, and his whole career. If they thought he was a cheater, that would follow him like a cloud for years.

“And you were the one holding the ball.” Morgan echoed his thoughts.

The implication of this sat heavily between them. Rick could think of nothing to say. He did not trust himself to speak right now, sure that his anger would rush out of him.

“I’ll talk to him,” Morgan offered. “See if we can’t resolve this without getting anyone else involved.”

“Good luck,” Rick nodded. He had other things to focus on today. He was starting, and had no intention of allowing Simon to take the mound at all. His irritation at Ogg trying to set him up had burned like a low ember in the pit of his stomach for days now.

It continued to fester as the rest of the team arrived, as he listened to Horvath’s pregame speech, as they changed into their uniforms. Simon was in good spirits, the way he always was, grinning and insulting them all in turn. If any of the Dodgers noticed Rick’s mood, they charitably did not call him on it.

“This is a rivalry that goes back damn near a hundred years,” Horvath imparted. He was red in the face, as fired up as though he intended to take to the field themselves. “We’re scrambling for a playoff bid. The Yankees think that they’ve got nothing to worry about, that the Dodgers days of being a contender are over.”

“Fuck that,” T-Dog interjected enthusiastically to the delight of his team.

“Fuck that,” Horvath agreed, grinning. “Rook, you’re starting.” All eyes turned to Rick at once. The embers in his stomach raged into a fire. “Don’t let us down, kid.”

“I won’t,” Rick swore solemnly.

Aaron smacked him on the top of the head. “Ready to kick some ass?” he asked.

It was the team who answered, whooping and cheering until the whole of the clubhouse seemed to echo with their voices. The cheers rang in Rick’s ears as he headed to the bullpen to warm up. The pitching coach nodded his approval as Rick whipped in fastball after fastball. He was so focused that he didn’t notice Morgan and Simon having a hushed conversation until Ogg was stomping towards Rick, a look of fury in his eyes.

“You accusing me of cheating?” he spat, shoving Rick for good measure.

The ball fell from Rick’s mitt, hitting the dirt beneath them. Rick recovered quickly, squaring up to the much taller man. He pushed back, satisfied when Ogg stumbled, looking surprised.

“I ain’t accuse you of shit,” Rick gritted out. “You know what you did.”

“I ain’t do shit,” Simon denied. “But you still ran to daddy over there to tell on me?” He jerked his head in the direction of Morgan.

The whole of the bullpen froze at once, then converged on the two men. Rick knew that the fans early enough to the stadium could see them, that Michonne, somewhere in the box, could see them too.

“You’re trying to frame me,” it was not a question and Rick did not frame it as such. He kept his voice down, a deadly whisper through gritted teeth. “You’re trying to get me thrown out of the game.”

Simon grinned, a wicked, jeering gesture. He moved until he was chest to chest with Rick, staring down at him. “I don’t gotta do anything to get you tossed out,” Simon told him. “You think you’re hot shit, but you’re a flash in the pan. The fans love you, the girls love you, that little wife of yours thinks the sun shoots out of your ass-- but you don’t have what it takes. By next season, you’ll be old news, rookie.”

Rick went red at once, fists clenching. He tugged his mitt from his left hand. Ogg noticed.

“Hit me then,” he baited, pushing Rick hard. Rick stumbled back an inch but pushed forward again.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Morgan attempted to get between them, but neither man budged.

Rick sucked his teeth furiously, red in the face, anger pulsing through him like some living thing. Simon stood in front of him, still smirking, looking for all the world like he deserved a fist right to his smug, lying face.

“Fuck you, Ogg,” Rick said, stepping backwards.

“Ohhhhhh…” Simon taunted. “Them fans aren’t going to like their golden boy cussing like a sailor.”

Rick bent to retrieve his glove. “I gotta get ready to start,” he told his teammate. “You better go warm up the bench.”

He didn’t stick around for Ogg’s response, instead heading out of the bullpen and to the dugout. He spied Michonne in her customary place, watching him, an anxious look on her face. He marched directly towards her, kicking up clods of red dirt behind him.

“Baby--” she began, surely about to ask him what was wrong. Rick cut her off, leaning up to kiss her soundly, deeply, holding her face in his hands. She was breathless when he pulled away. “Go get em, All Star,” she told him, her voice filled with firey conviction.

Nodding, Rick headed for the mound.


	9. Ninth Inning

“Looks like this Rookie’s slump is officially over, Dodgers’ fans!” the announcer crowed, voice rife with joy. The crowd buzzed like wasps in a hive, overcome by the mere possibility of what they might soon witness. 

Rick retreated to the dugout, sweating, flushed, a look of fierce determination on his face. His teammates were silent, all decidedly refusing to look at him, glee barely disguised on each of their expressions. Even Morgan turned his back. 

Rick took a seat, tugging his warmup jacket over his arm. He removed his hat and sat back, watching the Dodgers prepare to go to bat. He turned his eyes to the first base line, to where Michonne was staring at him. She blew him a kiss, mouthing that she loved him. Rick smiled outright. 

“7 innings down folks, and I’ve never seen anything like this. Looks like the Dodgers are determined not to jinx the rookie’s chances,” the announcer observed. The crowd cheered all the more. 

The silence in the dugout suited Rick fine. He could feel Ogg’s eyes on him, could feel the disbelief and anger directed at him. It didn’t matter. There were two more innings, and Rick had every intention of making the best of them. 

The Dodgers got two runs in, putting them even further ahead. Rick rode the momentum, seizing his mitt again to walk towards the mound. The screams carried him, bolstered him. From behind the plate, Morgan nodded seriously, squatting to catch. The Yankee batter looked determined. Rick rubbed the ball in his palm, fingers tracing the laces. With a deep breath, he threw. 

Three fastballs were enough to send this batter back to the Yankee dugout, disappointed. A screwball put the nail in the coffin for the second. A curveball caught the third off guard. And just like that, there was one inning left. 

“Can the Dodgers do it? Has Grimes got it in him?!” The announcer yelled into the mic. On the jumbotron, the camera found Michonne. She was beaming, her arms wrapped around her, looking nervous and elated all at once. She waved, drawing more cheers, but quickly turned serious eyes back to the game. 

The Yankee pitcher managed a fair imitation of Rick, sending the Dodgers back to the dugout with only four batters up to the plate. No one seemed to mind much. The foundations of Dodgers’ stadium shook like an earthquake was upon them as Rick climbed the mound once more. 

The inning seemed to move in slow motion. Rick focused, feeling nothing but the burn of his muscles, the texture of the ball. Everything went silent as he wound up again, releasing the ball. It curved, whipping in, past the player’s wildly swinging bat. The hitter switched, but Rick scarcely noticed. He threw high, shaking the batter, then perfectly down the pipe as hard as he could. A second fastball sent the Yankee back to the dugout. 

“Could this be it?” the question rang through the stadium, filling the mind of everyone in attendance. Morgan squatted again, signaling from behind the batter. Another curveball, a fastball, and suddenly--

Rick threw as hard as he was able, channeling everything he had into the pitch. He could almost hear the wind whip around it, hear the silence as thousands held their breath. Then there was the smack of the ball in Morgan’s mitt, and the umpire’s shout. 

“Strike three!” 

The stadium exploded and Rick suddenly came back into awareness. Morgan reached him first, tossing his mask and rushing him until he hit him full force, lifting Rick slightly off the mound. Rick laughed in surprise, hugging his captain back. 

The team came next, a blur of blue and white, of hands smacking at him, voices laughing, congratulating, screaming in delight. Rick lost his hat, lost his mitt, but he didn’t care. The announcer was yelling too, reciting statistics. 

A no-hitter. Rick had never managed it, not in over a decade of playing. In 100 years, only 20 or so rookies had ever successfully pulled it off. Now Rick was among them. 

He turned, craning his head to see over the crush of his teammates, ignoring Simon’s sullen expression in lieu of looking towards the jumbotron. Michonne was on the screen, weeping openly, smiling for all she was worth. He pressed through the crowd, running for the first base line, for his wife, still sitting next to Jenny. She leaned over the wall and caught him as he jumped, pulling him into a hug. 

“Rick, baby,” she cried into his ear, pressing kisses all over his face. “You did it! No hits—“ she beamed at him. “Holy shit, Rick.”

He held her, half-dragging her atop the wall. Michonne threw caution to the wind, crawling over until she could drop down onto the field. She squeezed him tightly and all Rick could feel was her, even over the hands of dozens of strangers all seeking to be part of the moment. 

He gave interviews as he moved towards the locker room. Michonne held his hand off-camera, while his team members jumped in and out of the shot. Rick experienced a pang of petty glee when ESPN asked Simon for his opinion. Ogg was forced to fake a smile, congratulating Rick with a warmness that seemed almost genuine. Michonne cut her eyes at him, but Rick couldn’t be bothered. 

“How are you going to celebrate?” Siddiq asked him from the locker room. 

Rick would have liked to say that he was planning on going home, planning on crawling into bed with Michonne and staying there until he had to get out. But that seemed like a long shot. The club was crowded with fans and friends alike, the music loud, and Rick was exhausted. But Michonne was there, her hand in his, her body pushed flush against his. 

“Ogg is a piece of work,” she whispered this directly into Rick’s ear. 

Simon was in front of them, in a crowd, as usual. He’d worn a scowl for the better part of the night, but it didn’t stop him from drinking. Rick knew that the pitching staff had talked to Horvath, and Horvath had talked to Ogg. Whatever the conversation had been, it left Simon scowling.

Rick kissed Michonne quickly, pulling her closer to him. The bass from the music thrummed around them, sending pleasant tremors through him. “Couldn’t care less about him,” Rick admitted. There were much more pressing things to occupy him. 

His wife smiled, perhaps sensing his train of thought. She began to move, dancing in earnest, rolling against him to the beat. Rick swallowed thickly, moving with her. Around them, his teammates danced, wives mixed in with girlfriends, admirers, well-wishers, friends. They pushed against the couple, crushing them in like a pop can in a fist. Michonne did not seem to mind their proximity. 

“I’m so proud of you,” she linked her arms around his neck, laying her head on his shoulder. Her chest was pressed flush against him. Rick held her tighter still, her praise making him dizzy. 

“Just trying to keep up with you,” he admitted, blushing. 

She shook her head, looking amused. “One day, you’ll realize how great you are,” she mused. 

“At baseball?” of that, he had a fair idea about how good he was. 

Michonne rolled her eyes dramatically, still grinning. “You’re good at baseball,” she reaffirmed. “But that’s got nothing on the kind of husband you’re turning out to be.”

He flushed even deeper, glad for the dark atmosphere, gladder still that Michonne was in his arms. “I’m trying,” he admitted. 

She leaned in, kissing him slowly, sweetly, as though they were alone and not in the midst of a crowd of strangers. “You’re doing better than trying,” she told him, her mouth still against his. 

He leaned his forehead to hers, wanting to be alone, just the two of them. There would be a time, he knew, where they would be used to this, where a night out would hold appeal. There would be a time when their schedules were comfortable, when they’d mastered this new challenge as they’d mastered ones in the past. He looked forward to this, looked forward to a long road with Michonne. But just now, he did not want to share her. 

“Can we go home?” he asked her. 

She nodded, looking unsurprised. “Should you say goodbye to your team?” she suggested. She glanced over at Morgan. Jenny was dancing with him, the pair of them beaming at one another like high school students. The sight warmed Rick greatly. 

“Captain,” he walked towards him, still holding Michonne’s hand. “We’re going to get out of here.”

Morgan looked surprised. “This is your party, Rook.”

“Nah,” Rick shook his head. “This is for the fans.” He chanced a glance at the hundreds of elated, drunken faces around him. There was only one face he cared to see for the rest of the night. 

Morgan snorted knowingly. “Don’t wear him out too bad, Michonne,” he addressed her instead. “The boy’s gotta rest up for the playoffs.”

Michonne laughed happily. “No promises.”

From the corner of his eye, Rick could make out Ogg. He was swigging down beer, making no secret of his disdain for Rick. Morgan noticed. 

“You’re raking up enemies, Rookie,” he observed. 

Rick shrugged. “I kinda hoped they wouldn’t be on the same team as me.”

Morgan mirrored him. “I wouldn’t worry about that too much longer if I were you, Rook. Go home. Get some rest.” He winked at the young couple. “Jenny and I are going to enjoy our night out.”

Michonne hailed them a cab. Rick was happy to curl up next to her in the backseat, reclining against her. He knew that the driver recognized him by the furtive looks tossed his way in the rear view mirror. Michonne dug in her purse, retrieving a notebook and pen. Rick took them, scribbling a short note and his signature. They passed it to the driver with the money as they arrived home. The look on the driver’s face was worth the tiny inconvenience. 

Their house smelled of cocoa butter when they entered, Michonne’s handiwork. She’d enjoyed cooking in their own kitchen, lounging on their couch, studying from the comfort of their home with Rick beside her. Rick had loved it as well, the simple domesticity of being together, alone and perfectly at peace. 

“Well, All-Star,” she regarded Rick from across their foyer. “How do you want to celebrate?”

Rick could think of a thousand ways, all of them involving he and Michonne naked. Still, he only felt energetic enough for one thing. Michonne took his hand as he led her to their bedroom, watching as he reached for a box he’d stowed inside of their closet. She looked curiously as he unpacked it, laughing delightedly as he revealed the gift inside. 

“A globe,” she giggled, shaking her head. “You took this very literally, baby.”

“We said we’d pick a place,” he grinned sitting beside her. “So let’s pick.”

“You still have playoffs, and I have finals--” she reminded him. 

“And after that, we’re taking a whole winter to honeymoon,” he reminded her. “So let’s pick a place.”

She beamed at him, reaching out to touch the rounded plastic sphere. “What if it lands somewhere cold?” she asked.

“We’ll spin it again,” Rick answered at once. She nodded approvingly. 

“Alright,” she agreed. She laid her hand over his. “Together?”

“Together,” he nodded, moving their hands in unison. The globe spun, whistling lightly on its frame. Michonne watched, enraptured. Rick dragged their hands up and down, heightening the suspense, drawing pleasured giggles from her. 

It slowed, and the two leaned in, looking at the small country that their fingers had landed on. 

“New Zealand,” Michonne announced, looking surprised but delighted. “Well, their seasons are the reverse of ours, so it will be warm.”

“A good place to start,” Rick nodded. 

“They’ve got good skydiving, at least,” Michonne looked thoughtful. “They’re filming some big movie down there right now.”

“I bet people will leave us alone out there,” the idea gained more appeal as Rick contemplated it. “I bet we could go to the beach and lay out all day and no one would want an autograph.”

Michonne reached for him, stroking his beard-covered chin. She pulled his face to hers, kissing him. “So we start in New Zealand. Then where?” she asked, leaning against him. 

Rick paused. “We can pick once we get there,” he said. 

Michonne smiled. “That sounds perfect.” He could see her mind spinning, accounting for passports and flights, wondering which were the best places to see and what they should bring with them. Rick chuckled, kissing her, a warm surge of affection for his wife filling him. 

A yawn split his face despite himself, his exhaustion making itself suddenly known. His muscles ached with a delicious burn, the tell tell signs of a game well-played. He sat the globe down at the foot of the bed. “Can we lay down for a minute?” he asked. 

Michonne nodded. She reached over, tugging his t-shirt up over his head, not with the frantic pace that so often precluded their foreplay, but gently, carefully. He worked his jeans off before helping Michonne get out of her dress. She settled next to him in bed, propped up against the pillows. 

“You know,” she muttered, her eyes closed. “I had plans for you tonight.” She sounded almost regretful. 

“Yeah?” he grinned, even as his body began to succumb to the pull of sleep. “I had plans for you too.” 

“So why are we laying here, falling asleep?” she asked, cuddling closer to him still. 

Rick kissed her forehead, rolling over so that he could spoon her. “I’m sure I could wake myself up if you want,” he offered. It wouldn’t take much. 

She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re home for a few days,” she reminded him. “We’ve got time.” She reached over to turn off the bedside lamp. 

Rick was asleep before the light faded from the bedroom, his arms wrapped around Michonne. 

A few days turned into a few weeks once the playoffs began. Michonne, true to her word, relocated to Los Angeles, happy to cheer him on during her fall break. The Dodgers played the Diamondbacks in Round 1. The Arizona team put up a fight. 7 games later and it was done. The Diamondbacks moved on while the Dodgers headed home. 

Rick felt disappointed, certainly, but also a small sense of triumph. The Dodgers hadn’t gone the distance this season, but he had a good feeling that it was only a matter of time. There was a silver lining to every cloud. Rick found his in the year-round warm weather of LA and time with his wife. And while part of him missed the cheer of the crowds, the thrill of the game, he found the tranquility of home, the sounds of Michonne’s homemade mixtapes, her voice singing as she wandered the house in tiny shorts and an overlarge Dodgers’ shirt, suited him just fine. 

Fall came and went but LA stayed much the same, bright, sunny, and warm enough to sunbathe. The television hummed in the background, barely audible through the wide open sliding glass doors leading to the backyard. It went largely unnoticed by the occupants of the house. 

Rick was stationed by the grill, donning a navy blue apron and arguing heatedly about the best process for ribs and brisket with his teammates. Their kids were tumbling about in the yard, playing some sort of tag and dodgeball mashup. The Dodgers remained safely out of the danger zone, sipping beer and debating hotly. 

“I’m telling you,” T-Dog imparted. “They ain’t shit if you don’t slow cook them.”

“I’m with Theo on this one,” Rick threw in his opinion. “Michonne’s mom makes these ribs that are so juicy they fall off the bone.” His mouth watered just to think of them. 

“They aren’t supposed to fall off the bone,” Morgan argued. “You’re supposed to work for all that sweet meat.”

“Sweet meat?” Bob screwed up his face. “I thought that was Aaron’s nickname?”

“That’s just what your daddy calls me,” Aaron did not miss a beat, strolling by with a wink. He reached into the cooler, pulling out a handful of beers. They all accepted their bottles.

“You think Michonne will give me the recipe?” Siddiq asked. “I need a good one.”

Rick snorted, shaking his head. “She won’t even give me the recipe. That’s a family secret.”

“Damn,” T-Dog laughed. “Ain’t you family?”

“Sure,” Rick flipped the steaks on the grill, “except when it comes to that rib recipe.” He’d gotten into it with his in-laws a few summers back, doing his best to wheedle it out of Michonne’s father and getting chased out of the kitchen with a wooden spoon for his efforts. Michonne hadn’t been much help, only laughing and shaking her head. 

“Bet I could get her to give it to me,” Siddiq looked towards the patio. Michonne was in a heated game of ping pong. She glanced up at him, winking as she smacked the white ball soundly across the net, handily defeating Horvath. 

“Your wife is just as competitive as you,” the Dodgers’ coach lamented. Rick and Michonne only laughed. 

“Who’s next?” she announced, looking around. Morgan’s son Dwayne stepped up the challenge at once. “You ready, little man?” Michonne asked, brandishing her paddle like a sword. 

Rick turned back to his teammates, still chuckling. “Try it,” he dared Siddiq. 

“Do it,” Bob goaded. “I want to see.”

Siddiq balked. “Maybe not,” he amended. “I’ve seen her screaming from the sidelines. I don’t want her to scream at me.” 

“Don’t hit her man with a ball then,” Morgan suggested coolly. 

“Or try to frame him for cheating?” Siddiq suggested slyly. 

Rick shook his head while his teammates laughed. One member was conspicuously absent. Rick didn’t miss him. Conversation lulled as they watched Michonne and Dwayne enter a heated battle. Morgan shouted encouragement at his son. Dwayne hit the ball back and Rick watched Michonne hesitate just the slightest, letting the ball sail past her. The young boy began to cheer, high fiving his mother. Michonne smiled in Rick and Morgan’s direction. 

“Think you racked up enough enemies this season?” Aaron asked on a snort. 

Rick shrugged, reaching for a ceramic platter. “I was thinking I’d try for a few more next year.”

His team only laughed. 

By the time round 3 of the playoffs began, two dozen people were crushed into Rick and Michonne’s living room, reclining on every surface imaginable. Michonne had taken the place on Rick’s lap and was happily munching away on a plate filled with meat, potatoes, and a vegetable or two (more for appearances sake than anything else). 

They cheered delightedly when the Yankees lost another game. In no time, most of the adults were half-drunk and slipping into food comas one by one. Rick leaned fully against his wife’s back, his arm looped around her waist, his hand pressing patterns into her jean clad legs. She reclined against him, her locs a loose tumble, content to sit in a comfortable quiet while his team shot the shit. 

The sports broadcast turned from game highlights to nominations for Rookie of the Year. 

“Oh!” Michonne exclaimed. She reached for the remote and shushed them in a hurry. “Quiet,” she commanded. 

“Yes ma’am,” Bob answered at once, laughing to himself. Still, they all leaned forward, giving the television their full attention. 

Michonne straightened, straining against Rick’s arm. He sank down into the couch, half nervous, half deathly embarrassed. 

“The nominees are in and there’s no surprises,” the sports anchor announced, “Who’s taking home Rookie of the Year in the MLB? It’s a case of NorCal versus SoCal as the two frontrunners duke it out for this year-one honor. But who is it going to be: San Francisco’s pretty-boy pitcher, or the bearded boy-wonder in LA?”

“It’s no competition,” another panelist interjected. “If anyone has any sense at all, it’s Grimes.”

The living room exploded in cheers. Rick resisted the urge to hide his face in Michonne’s shirt. She wrapped her arms around his neck, grinning at him. 

“Now hold on--” another panelist began. 

“No!” the announcer yelled, to the amusement of his fellow panelists. “No argument. He pitched a no hitter. A no hitter. You know how many rookies have done that in history?”

“20,” Dwayne answered instantly. Morgan grinned at him. 

“But does one game make a great season?” The second panelist pressed his point. “He had a midseason slump--”

“Oh please,” Michonne scoffed. Rick hugged her gratefully. 

“20!” the panelist interrupted the other’s argument again. “Two-Zero. That’s it. Did Monroe pitch a no-hitter?” the announcer held a hand to his ear as though he were waiting for an answer. “No. That’s right. He didn’t. It’s Grimes.”

“Fuck Monroe,” T-Dog contributed cheerfully. The team raised their glasses to the sentiment. Morgan scowled, covering Dwayne’s ears. 

“But--”

“It’s Grimes,” the announcer concluded with finality. 

“Hey,” Bob said, glancing at Rick slyly. “You think Grimes will ever stop blushing when he hears his name on tv?” 

There was laughter again at Rick’s expense. Even Michonne chuckled. She reached backwards, tugging at his hair. He flushed even deeper. 

“Leave the boy alone,” Morgan chuckled. “Better than some egomaniac.”

“Like Ogg?” Siddiq asked conversationally. 

“I’m not naming names,” Morgan took a sip of his beer. 

The team filed out one at a time within the hour, clutching to-go plates and empty coolers, shouting thank yous and promises to host the next soiree. 

“Why didn’t you tell them?” Michonne asked casually as they returned to their now-empty kitchen. 

Rick shrugged, bagging the last of the trash. “Let ‘em be surprised.”

Michonne began to laugh. “So you’re going to pretend you don’t know?”

He grinned. “I did an ok job an hour ago,” he pointed out. He set the bag aside, moving to wash his hands. Michonne wrapped her arms around his waist from behind him. 

“Did you pick a good suit?” she asked, pressing kisses to the back of his neck. 

He laughed. “It’s black. Does that count?”

She snorted. “You’re lucky you look good in everything.”

“Nah,” he spun around, tugging her into his arms. “That’s you.”

She grinned. “Well, obviously. I put some thought into it though.” 

“You don’t need to,” he pressed his mouth to her neck, sucking until she began to squirm. “You know what my favorite look on you is?” he asked, running his hands over her. He settled on her ass, giving her a firm squeeze. 

“I have an idea,” her voice was strained. 

“Want to put it on for me now?” he suggested. 

“Depends,” she kissed him deeply. “What are you going to do if I do?”

He grinned wickedly. Rick began to whisper in her ear, enjoying the shiver that ran through her at his words. “That’ll work,” she confirmed. She hopped out of his grasp and pulled at his hands. “We’ll finish cleaning up later,” she told him. 

“Yes ma’am,” Rick followed her, hurrying back towards the couch.


	10. Overtime

It was easy to forget where he was when he woke up. Rick blinked himself into the world of the waking, wondering for a moment what city he was in. One by one, his senses came alive. The first thing he noticed was Michonne’s scent, cocoa butter and coconut oil. He rolled towards her, attempting to pull her back to him, but grasped at nothing but air. Confused, Rick craned his head, looking for her. 

“Good morning,” Michonne’s tone was mischievous, full of promise. She was kneeling on the bed above the blanket, a hungry look in her eye that he recognized at once. 

Rick sat up, grinning crookedly at her. “What are you doing down there?” he asked, his voice still a gravelly whisper. He enjoyed the sight of her, sleep tousled in the early morning light, her hair an artful mess. 

She began to pull the covers down inch by inch, her eyes fixed on him with excitement, as though she was opening a Christmas present. “You were grinding into me in your sleep,” she accused. 

“Was I?” Rick wasn’t surprised. He always slept close to her, but since their reunion he’d often woken up twisted around her like a pretzel. His grin widened as she pulled the sheet down around his legs, exposing the source of her supposed irritation. Rick strained towards her, blood rushing downwards in a frenzy. 

“Are you calling me a liar?” she baited, climbing atop him. Her pajama shirt, an overlarge Dodgers tee with his name on it, swayed as she bent over him. Rick reached for the hem, pulling it up just enough to get his hands on her. She sighed as he cupped her but soon danced backwards from him, lifting the shirt over her head and tossing it aside. 

“No,” Rick did his best to hold in a groan as she leaned even further down. “Just wondering what you’re gonna do about it.”

She mirrored his grin, lowering her head, wiggling her hips for his benefit. Her tongue darted out and Rick let out a pleasured grunt, jerking up into her. She laughed. 

“Chonne, please,” they hadn’t been up ten minutes and she had him begging. He should have known she would pay him back in full for his stunt the night before, when he’d had her practically weeping from his teasing. He wasn’t the only competitive one in their family. 

She offered him another impish smile before ending his torture. She took no time to slowly warm up, instead plunging him instantly into blinding pleasure. Rick flung his head back into the pillows, his mind going dizzy at the wet heat of her mouth. His calloused hands laced through the softness of her locs, holding on for dear life. She reached upwards, laying her hands against his tightened abdomen, clearly enjoying taking him apart. Her moan around him sent another spike of pleasure racing up his spine. 

“Oh shit, baby…” Rick rocked backwards then forward again, shaking the bed. The walls around them rattled, the blinds opening a crack. The sun was high outside already, white strips of light criss crossing over them. Rick began to apply pressure to his grip on his wife’s hair, unable to help himself as his hips moved, seeking relief. “Fuck, Michonne…” curse words came thick and heavy as she adjusted to his pace, excercising no mercy. He had almost reached his peak when she suddenly halted. 

She came up for air, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “Want me to stop?” she asked teasingly. He blinked in confusion, his mind racing to catch up. She looked far too pleased with herself. She rolled away from him, climbing out of bed to get herself a glass of water. Rick watched, amused despite himself. 

“Chonne,” he called to her, following her out of bed. He wrapped his arms around her bare waist, stroking her, feeling the goosebumps rise against her lovely, dark complexion. He pressed himself squarely into her backside, delighting as a moan escaped her. 

“Yes?” she asked innocently, her veneer cracking somewhat as she rolled backwards into him. 

“I ain’t done with you,” he growled, picking her up. In seconds, he’d spun them, tossing her down on the bed before climbing atop her. 

She squealed in delight, bracing her hands on his shoulders. Her legs fell open at once, trapping him between them. Rick was inside of her before she could gain control again. She screamed her approval. Rick didn’t bother to hush her. There was no one around anyway. 

He hefted her up, smacking his hands roughly against her ass. She arched further into him. “Teasing me first thing in the morning,” he grumbled in a mock-scold, rolling his hips the way he knew she liked. 

She opened her mouth to respond, but only a moan escaped. It was Rick’s turn to smile. He jerked her hips up, giving himself the advantage of leverage as he sped up his motions. She babbled senselessly, her nails digging into his forearms enough to sting. 

“What were you saying, baby?” Rick quipped, barely holding on himself as Michonne tightened around him. 

She didn’t bother with a comeback, only opened her eyes to look at him. “Harder, please,” she begged, voice strained. 

On this, Rick was happy to comply. Sweat ran down his body as he sought to take his wife apart. The sight of her bouncing beneath him was almost too much to handle. He shut his eyes, focusing on the pull of her body, the taste of her skin as he bent to kiss at her. Her moans became a prolonged note, the tell tell signs of her impending release seizing her. 

It wasn’t long before they collapsed in a sweaty tangle of sheets, momentarily sated. From outside, nature was coming alive, the sounds of birds chirping, and the wind rushing through tall grass reaching them through the window. Rick lifted his head, squinting through the blinds. Still beneath him, Michonne stretched again, a smile on her lips. 

“You want to go outside?” he asked her, bending to kiss her forehead. 

She sighed, curling into him. “One more hour,” she begged, already drifting off. 

Rick tucked her in, tugging on a pair of shorts and sliding on his sandals. As quietly as possible, he rummaged through the miniature refrigerator in their trailer, filling his arms before heading outside. The sun was bright and the day was warm, a perfect example of a New Zealand summer. Christmas would be coming soon, an amusing notion, considering the heat. Rick sat the food on a small picnic table and looked out over the water in front of them. 

It was something out of a fairytale, he’d decided when they first saw it. Michonne had mentioned that some fantasy epic was being filmed out here. They’d passed the set in their rented RV on the North Island before making it south. They had been parked out here in Milford Sound for five days now with no real intention of leaving. 

He rinsed off in the cold water of the river, enjoying the tranquility. The gas stove hummed cheerfully nearby as he started bacon and eggs. He was enjoying the sun on his bare chest, crunching happily on an apple when the door to the RV opened. 

“Want some coffee, Rookie of the Year?” Michonne offered. The smell was enough to be mouthwatering. He grinned at her, pulling her into his lap. 

“Thanks, baby.” He accepted the proffered cup, sipping it. She took the apple in turn, taking a bite. 

Michonne sighed contently. “We’ve been in New Zealand for almost a month,” she recounted. Time had flown by and crawled in turns. 

Rick nodded. “Did you want to talk about our next place?” 

Michonne shrugged. “There’s not many places with summer during Christmastime,” she pointed out. “Fewer places maybe where your fans aren’t screaming around us.” She did not sound in the least bit put out. 

“You’ve always wanted to try bungee jumping,” Rick reminded her. “That’s only a six hour drive around the mountains.”

She smiled, leaning her head against his as they basked in the sun. “We can go tomorrow,” she suggested. 

Rick set down the coffee in lieu of holding her closer. “Tomorrow’s perfect,” he said, kissing her soundly.


End file.
